


Escher Dreams

by internetname



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 75,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picard's having wonderful dreams, in which the same lover returns to him again and again. Who it is and does it have anything to do with the incredible anomaly they're studying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escher Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely and talented Ruth Gifford and I cowrote this story years ago when I was going by Varoneeka and we were both going by the name The Anon Sisters.

 

The Anon Sisters Stories - Escher Dreams One  
For Jean-Luc Picard, it started on an archeological dig. In reality, he was in his bed on the USS Enterprise 1701-E, and a small part of his mind knew that. Most of him, however, thought he was in Egypt, in the 1920s, leading a team of archeologists who were investigating the Valley of the Kings.

It was late at night, and Picard had wandered a small way into the desert to look at the stars. "You just don't see them this way anywhere but in the desert." Picard knew the voice, and he turned. 

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked the other man. 

The response was a chuckle. "I'm a little too excited about tomorrow to sleep, Dr. Picard." 

"Don't get too excited; we could open it up and find it empty." 

"If you believed that," the rich voice said, wrapping itself around Jean-Luc's nerves, "you'd be in your tent, sound asleep." 

Picard smiled. "You would think that after a lifetime of doing this, I'd know better than to get this anxious." He laughed and shook his head, then looked back to the stars. "Sleep seems to be beyond my reach." 

Picard could feel the movement behind him, and his companion's warm breath tickled his ear as the man leaned over his shoulder to murmur in that ear. "I can think of a way to help us relax." Then a tongue was tracing the contours of Jean-Luc's ear and a pair of arms was wrapping around him. He leaned back against that strong, warm body, and sighed. 

"Just what did you have in mind?" he teased. He knew what the other man wanted to do and was more than willing to do it with him. 

_Beep, beep, beep, beep..._

"Off!" Picard sat up and sighed. As usual, his dream was fading as he woke up, but the result of the dream was very much in evidence. He thought for a quick moment and decided that he had enough time to deal with the erection that was making a nuisance of itself, and he quickly reached for the lube that he kept in his nightstand for just this purpose. 

As he touched himself, slowly at first, he tried to remember something about the dream other than the feeling of warmth and strength and, of course, being really aroused. 

There. It was something about Egypt, but that was all. He couldn't remember the woman from the dream, not even a little bit. Had it been Beverly? Or Phillipa? 

No, he was suddenly sure her hair had been dark. Kamala. Yes, just at the thought of her he was getting harder. So beautiful, so intelligent and strong, almost magical, the way she became what he wanted. As much as it had hurt to know that he couldn't be with her, it had been wonderful simply to see her, to be with her, to know that she existed, at least until the next man came along. And then she had bonded herself to him and become that permanently... 

She had two children now. He'd learned that much just from keeping his ears open. The marriage and the alliance were quite a success. 

Picard shook himself and concentrated more on what he was doing. It had been so long since he'd had someone warm in his bed, someone who somehow made it through all the criteria he had as the Captain of the Enterprise, someone who wanted him even though he kept himself distant and protected. 

Kamala had wanted him, he thought, envisioning that night, how she had touched his face, how she had admired his voice, how she had asked him, how she had smiled, how her incredible body had looked in that see-through dress... 

"Ohhhh," he breathed, feeling himself getting close. 

"Riker to Captain Picard." 

_Damnit!_

"Picard here." 

"Sir, the Kes-Prytt ambassador is insisting that he speak with you...and you know how he is." 

Even as his cock's painful frustration fought to make its way into his voice, Picard couldn't help smiling slightly at the note in Riker's voice. He didn't understand why Kes-Prytt was still pretending paranoia-tinged diplomatic relations with the Federation could get anywhere. After that charade with them and him and Beverly, he'd thought they'd either learn their lesson or stay away. However, it was part of his job to oblige them and their paranoid ambassador. 

"I'll be right there, Commander. Picard out." 

He sighed, got a firm hold of himself and stroked hard. When he came, the pleasure was mostly just relief, and it was only a moment before he was standing to strip the sheets from the bed and pile them into the processor. A quick shower and a cup of coffee, and he'd be there with a smile on his face to assure Ambassador Arlic that his quarters weren't bugged, his food wasn't poisoned, and no monsters were hiding in his closet. 

By the end of the day, Picard's smile was still in place, but his jaw hurt from keeping it there. Why on Earth had Starfleet, in its infinite wisdom, sent the Enterprise to deal with the Kes-Prytt? Of course, as a diplomat, he knew that any advantage was to be used, and he'd used the ambassador's discomfort at seeing him to keep the man on edge. But it was a hollow victory at best, as the ambassador had made it clear that he assumed that Picard was harboring ill-will toward Kes-Prytt as a result of his prior capture by the Prytt. 

"On the contrary," Picard had said to Riker as they both went off duty at the end of a long irritable day. "I harbor ill-will because they're just so irritating." 

Riker had laughed appreciatively. "You think Ambassador Arlic is bad? He has nothing on Ambassador Mauric." The first officer shuddered reminiscently. 

"Number One, as long as no one ends up sticking any telepathic devices in the back of my skull, I'll be all right." 

They had reached the door to Picard's quarters and Riker grinned. "I'll remind you of that statement in a few days time, sir." 

"Good night, Will." 

"'Night, Captain." 

Picard sighed as he walked into his quarters. He had a headache from gritting his teeth, and he was hungry because it was hard to eat while gritting one's teeth. He had absolutely no idea what he wanted for dinner, but he wanted something soon. Stepping up to the replicator, he ordered a random meal. It was a new feature; users could put in a series of parameters, and then every time they wanted to be surprised (but not too surprised) they just requested a random selection. 

The minute the food materialized, Picard could feel his mouth watering. When he pulled the tray out of the machine, he found himself looking at a large dish of paella. There was a simple salad on the side, and Jean-Luc realized that this was _exactly_ what he wanted for dinner. In fact, the food smelled so good that he decided to have a glass of real wine with it and eat at his table as opposed to his desk. Pushing his luck, he even requested random classical music from the computer. Again he was rewarded as the opening sounds of the overture to "Marriage of Figaro" poured out of the com system. Jean-Luc smiled and, grabbing his copy of the Vulcan novel _Firewinds,_ settled down to a thoroughly enjoyable dinner. 

He had been worried that he would have trouble sleeping, but after a stress-reducing hot shower, sleep came quickly. And so did the dream. The little part of Picard that knew he was dreaming assumed that reading a Pre-Enlightenment Vulcan novel before bed had a great deal to do with his dream. 

He was standing in on a high cliff, looking down over the burning village of his enemies. The high calls of his fellow soldiers were carried on the same wind that whipped his battle robes against his body. The smell of blood and victory filled his lungs, and his hands were raw from holding the spear and club he had used against those who deserved no better than the brutal death he had given them. 

Someone hailed him, calling his name into the wind as though his heart could be coaxed back into his breast. 

He turned, and saw his friend striding towards him, a club grasped still in his right hand, his whole body shining with the glory of their day's work. 

His blood boiled as it rushed to his cock, and he was hard and growling as his friend approached. Stepping to meet him, he grabbed the thickly muscled arms and thrust himself against the body he wanted so fiercely that his sight darkened. 

"Victory is ours," his friend growled just before their lips met hungrily, devouring the taste of each other. 

His hands went to the buckles of his friend's robes, baring that skin he must touch even as he ground himself into the bulging hardness he felt beneath them. Soon, very soon, he would throw this body to the ground and thrust inside the tight heat awaiting him. At the thought, he laughed and bit his friend's neck, breathing in the concentrated musk of battle while strong hands grabbed his buttocks and held him close. He laughed again, his whole body aflame with proud joy... 

And woke up. 

_This,_ Picard thought, as the details of his dream faded, _is absurd._ Absurd or not, however, he was lying in bed with a very insistent erection. A glance at the time told him that it was the middle of the "night" and that he didn't have to get up for another five hours. He vaguely wondered why this was the second night in a row that he'd dreamed this kind of dream, but most of his attention was on the urgent throbbing of his cock. 

Because the alarm wasn't going to go off anytime soon, he allowed himself the luxury of time. As he began to run his hands slowly over the silk of his pajama top, he tried to figure out who had been in the dream with him. Whoever she was, they'd been on Vulcan; Jean-Luc could vaguely remember that much. He moaned softly as his fingers glided over his tight nipples, trying to imagine someone else's fingers touching him there. Maybe he'd been dreaming about one of the heroines from the novel. That made sense, and he let himself fall into a fantasy involving wild sex with the warrior woman, Tevela. 

He didn't know, as the movements of his hands grew more focused, that he was being watched, that, as he stroked his cock through the thin silk that covered it, someone was watching it all and feeling an urgent need of their own. 

Jean-Luc was totally caught up in his fantasy now, a fantasy of sex that was half combat, as both participants wrestled for both dominance and pleasure. He was so close now, so close to the edge, as one hand tightened on his cock and the other clutched at a fistful of sheet, and his body writhed on the bed. He imagined the strength of a firm, hot body pressed against him, and how it would feel when he finally slid into the center of all that heat and strength. When he came, he came hard, arching off the bed into his own hand and yelling harshly as he rode out the pleasure he had become. 

He lay on the bed for a long time as he came down and his breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Finally, as his body cooled he became aware that his pajamas were soaked, he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. A few moments later, as the hot water beat down on him, he wondered at this sudden upsurge of his libido. Normally, reading a book about the rise to power by two very different women would not have brought on a dream like that. For that matter, he'd dreamed like that the night before. 

_What's going on with me?_

It really shouldn't bother him that much, of course. In spite of the fact that he'd only had a few hours of sleep tonight, he felt wonderful and had no doubt that tomorrow he'd be able to deal calmly with the ambassador and his ridiculous demands. If this were merely a matter of his stress seeking a form of release, he should be glad that it had chosen this form as opposed to burying him in nightmares or a bout of insomnia. 

When, clean, dry, and naked, he climbed back into bed, his skin seemed to be unusually aware of the crispness of the sheets and the weight of the blankets. He didn't normally sleep naked, but for some reason it had seemed like a good idea, and, as sleep again claimed him, he felt oddly decedent. 

He was surrounded by textures this time. Sprawled naked on his stomach on a pile of cushions, he reveled in the feeling of silk against his chest and the velvet that seemed almost to caress his thighs. He was being stroked; determined hands were running along his back. It wasn't exactly a massage, it was too gentle for that. It fit the languorous, luxuriant feeling of this place, and he surrendered easily to the touch of those hands. They glided over him, aided by some sort of warm oil, and he was soon moaning and pressing himself deeper into the pile of cushions. His only purpose in this place was to give and receive pleasure, and, as the hands slid down over his buttocks and started touching his thighs, he spread his legs in a gesture that seemed almost automatic. His moans increased in intensity and frequency, because he wanted to let the man who was touching him know how good it felt. And he _did_ feel good, pampered and pleasured and... 

_Beep, beep, beep, beep..._

"Alarm off!" Picard groaned. What the hell was going on? He was hard _again,_ achingly so. Someone in his dreams, doubtlessly yet another woman, had been touching him all over, and he had an image of pillows. 

He laughed, though it was shaky. What would Troi say? 

_She'd tell me to enjoy this latest manifestation of my psyche and explore what it means to me to masturbate,_ he thought with a somewhat irritated smirk, though more than half-serious. 

For some reason, he suddenly thought of Ardra, the way the woman had come into his quarters that night with her garish negligee and her off-putting sexuality. She'd made herself look like Troi at one point, and he'd thought then how truly lacking in insight she'd been. The counselor wasn't a beautiful "out of reach" woman to him, though she was certainly physically quite lovely. 

No, Deanna Troi was his confessor, his helper, his whatever-he-needed to do his job despite the horrors the universe sometimes threw his way. She cajoled him, analyzed him, even expertly tormented him if that were what he needed to face himself. Only because of her incredible talents had he come so cleanly through his Borg and Cardassian tortures, only because of her devotion to her job did the rest of the crew function so well, survive so admirably the forces which tugged at them and which would, unchecked, pull them all to pieces. 

But the price for that sort of help was high. In return for it Troi demanded unfailing honesty. Nothing could be kept from her for long, nothing white-washed or allowed to fester. No pain could go unremarked upon, no joy unsung. It was exhausting and annoying and incredibly priceless. And as a consequence Picard couldn't imagine thinking of her as an object of desire. She was his mother, sister, angel, enemy, conscience, friend, and colleague all presented in a pretty but ultimately inconsequential package. 

And so there Ardra had been: a woman who didn't attract him for one set of reasons pretending to be a woman who didn't attract him for a different set of reasons. He'd never been less tempted in his life. 

Picard chuckled. He knew why he was thinking of that moment now, concentrating on it fiercely, in fact. He wanted the heaviness between his legs to go away. He had meetings and negotiations to think about, and no time to stay in his room playing with himself like a teenager. He thought of Ardra's come-ons, of the way she beamed him to the planet in his pajamas, of the way she tried to embarrass him in front of his crew, and very soon he wasn't all that hard anymore. 

A shower would finish the job, he thought, rising from bed and walking naked into the bathroom. He looked himself over in the mirror as he passed, noting with a wry smile that his eyes seemed bright and his face relaxed. Even though he couldn't remember them, they really had been lovely dreams. 

"Shower," Picard told them computer, and stepped inside the cubicle to enjoy the warm spray. "Ohhhh," he breathed as that deluge caressed him. The water felt wonderful against his skin. He turned so that the spray hit his chest, stimulating sensitive nipples, before it trickled deliciously down to his groin, rippling through the gray-black curls there and running off the sides of his cock. Quickly, he was again fully erect, and he found he was repositioning his legs to enjoy even more the sensation of the hot water cascading down his skin. The heat was filling him now, moving around him in steamy swirls which made up the embracing arms of a ghost lover. 

He got some soap in his hands from the wall dispenser, rubbed them together to start up a warm lather, and then covered his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his head, neck and face in the creamy white suds. He stepped into the spray and felt the cleansing rinse tumble over him, stimulating him further. More soap, and he was now eagerly, urgently dropping his hands to his cock, enjoying the feel of himself in his own hands, loving and groaning over the feel of his hands around himself. 

"Ohhh, yes," he said, just for his own ears. And yes, there was no harm in this, no need to hold back, no need to worry or feel guilty, just himself giving himself pleasure...somehow, more pleasure right this moment than he'd felt on a few occasions with a lover. 

_Good thing it isn't usually this good,_ he couldn't help thinking, _or I'd never have made anything out of my life._

The water seemed to pelt him even harder, and the steam was moving all around him, into and out of his lungs, lightly caressing him and yet enfolding him in a white shroud of privacy in which anything was permitted, so long as it felt good. And then, as everything became heat and slippery sensation, he _came_ into his hands with a small scream, legs almost giving out, hips bucking, sight going just slightly dark. 

He steadied himself with his hands on the shower wall, waiting a long, long minute until his breathing got under control, then roughly shook himself, finished the shower and got out. It was difficult, however, to force himself to the quick efficiency he needed. He wanted to loll about on his bed and eat a huge breakfast, not jump into his uniform and slurp down a cup of coffee. He glanced at himself in the mirror -- acceptable -- and then all but shoved himself out his own door. 

He did have reason for the rush, after all. The computer told him he now had seventy minutes on the bridge before he would have to join the ambassador in his quarters. Those seventy minutes would be the highlight of his day -- minus the incredible jerk-off session in the shower, that is -- because yesterday the Enterprise had discovered a spatial anomaly previously unknown in Federation history. It was unique and fascinating enough to warrant investigation even in the middle of their diplomatic mission for the Prytt, and now Picard had over an hour to help in the investigation. 

Picard loved mysteries, and just the thought of what the anomaly might reveal was enough to make it easy -- or at least, possible -- to put the strange but highly pleasurable night and morning from his thoughts and concentrate on his duties. With a steadying breath, he centered himself in the turbo-lift and began to map out the details of his day. Captain Picard was ready once again to take the bridge. 

He headed briskly across the bridge toward the command chair, his eyes taking everything in almost automatically: everyone at their stations and doing their jobs, Data rising from the command chair to turn over the watch, that incredible view on the viewscreen...Picard almost stumbled to a halt, and would have felt self-conscious about his moment of clumsiness, if all of his attention weren't caught up in what he was looking at. 

The anomaly almost looked like lace, although Picard had never seen lace made out of copper thread before. Picard instantly thought of the old Tholian Web incident, and then thought of Q's forcefield at Farpoint, but this was like neither of those two occurrences. He stood for a moment longer, simply looking at and appreciating the beauty displayed before him. He then turned to Data, resolving to have a copy made of the visual recording. "What do you have on the phenomenon, Mr. Data?" 

"It is most curious, sir," the android replied. 

"I should hope so," Picard said, smiling. 

Picard spent an interesting hour going over the findings of the astrophysics department. They really didn't have much to report; the anomaly was made up of some kind of energy which they couldn't define, it was only visible from one angle for reasons that they didn't know, and they had no idea how it had come so suddenly into being. By the time Picard reluctantly dragged himself away from the investigation, all he knew was that it seemed to pose no danger to the ship. A probe had been sent out and had flown through the "lace" several times. The data collected had been fascinating; it seemed as if there were some sort of energy contained in the glowing network, but the probe had been undamaged. It was just the sort of puzzle Picard liked, and he realized that he was smiling as he headed for his meeting with the ambassador. 

After a grueling round of negotiations, during which Ambassador Arlic seemed to take Picard's good mood as a personal insult, the captain headed back toward the bridge and the anomaly. He was still in a good mood, and he had to admit that -- aside from the Prytt ambassador -- life was surprisingly good right now. 

"Captain," Data said as Picard walked onto the bridge. "If you had not been on your way here, I would have called you to the bridge." 

"What do you have for me?" Picard looked at the viewscreen and noticed that the copper lace-like pattern seemed to be fracturing. 

"The sensors indicate that the anomaly is opening up in some way." Data looked distressed to use such imprecise terminology, and Picard shook his head. 

"Opening up? To what, or should I say, 'where?'" 

As they watched, both on the screen and in the display of the sensor data, the whole net seemed to expand and fold back on itself, looking like nothing so much as a flower blooming at high speed. And then they were staring at what looked like a ball of greenish-yellow gas that seemed to be contained in copper lattice work. 

"Most unusual," Data said, sounding utterly surprised. "This defies several known laws of physics." 

Picard turned to look back at the sensor data and frowned. "Am I reading this correctly, Mr. Data?" 

"Yes, sir. This is a separate object, contained within the first object, which is roughly one fourth again as large as the first anomaly." 

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Riker said, "but isn't that impossible?" The first officer looked at the sensors, the viewscreen, and then Picard. "Of course," he added, "that's why it's classified as an anomaly." 

Picard laughed and turned to Data. "Well, run it through the full spectrum of scans again, and we'll wait and see what it does next." He turned and walked toward the lift and then turned back. "Has it got a name yet?" 

"Starfleet has designated it: Spatial Anomaly #732K, Captain." 

"That will never do, Mr. Data. Add 'commonly known as the Escher Anomaly' to the official designation." Data nodded, and both the android and Riker seemed a little surprised. 

"Commander," Data said, after the lift doors had closed behind Picard, "Captain Picard seems to be in an excellent mood." 

"Well, something like this," and Riker gestured to the viewscreen, "makes up for dealing with cranky Prytt ambassadors." 

Once in his quarters, Picard found that he was more interested in going to bed than in anything else. He ate dinner quickly and decided that, if he were going to have another night of...interesting dreams, he might as well get started. After making a mental note to ask Deanna, as circumspectly as possible, if anyone else were experiencing unusual dreams, he climbed into bed. It _had_ been a long day, and he was tired, and so he soon drifted off to sleep. 

This time he was floating, weightless and relaxed. He was in the Academy Zero Gee Simulator, he realized, and he was wearing a skinsuit. The thin yet tough fabric clung to him with a tension that was just this side of uncomfortable. Suddenly, the lights went out and the stars appeared and he had a phaser in his hand. Grinning, he looked down at his chest, finding a bright red patch of glowing color there. _If I'm red, my opponent must be green._

Remembering that there had been a support strut right above and to the left of his head, he twisted until he had grasped the strut. Secure now, he quickly looked around, trying to remember the positioning of the other struts and lines throughout the chamber. A flash of green caught his eye and he turned and fired. The flash moved and his shot went wide, but he was too busy ducking his opponent's fire to guess where the other had gone. 

Over the next several breathless moments, he and his opponent played tag among the three-dimensional maze of the simulator. Finally, Picard had lined up the perfect shot, and it was only as he fired that he realized he'd set himself up as well. The light on his chest flared green at the exact same moment his opponent's chest flared red, and then their phasers went dead. 

"A tie," the other man called out, and Picard moved toward the splotch of red. 

"That was well-played," Picard said, catching a strut a meter away from the man. "I haven't done that in years. Thank you." 

"Any time, Jean-Luc," the rich voice replied. There was something familiar about the voice, but then Picard could see the other's shape against the false stars of the simulator. 

"I was going to demand a forfeit, but since we tied, perhaps I'll have to ask instead." A hand brushed across Picard's chest, almost delicately. The skinsuit transmitted the touch and Picard moaned as his own hand reached out to return the gesture. Instead of a skinsuit, his fingers met skin: a cheek, he realized. He leaned his own face forward and they were suddenly kissing, hands running slowly over each other's bodies as they floated amidst the stars. The other man hooked one of his legs around Picard's legs, and suddenly they were pressed up tightly against each other. Every movement of his partner was transmitted through the tight fabric Picard wore and the only sound in the room was the sound of their harsh breathing. 

And Picard woke up. 

Feeling cheated, he closed his eyes and rolled over on his stomach, wishing that he could get back into the fantasy, step somehow back inside the dream he could only remember for its sense of floating and something else that had felt really, really good. 

But after a few minutes he knew that he was truly awake. He was aroused, of course, but it wasn't anything he couldn't get rid of with a few well-chosen thoughts. The computer told him it was one in the morning, and he knew from experience that having gone to bed early and woken up this completely meant it would be a while before he was able to sleep again. 

Rising, he threw on his uniform and walked out of his quarters. He'd been captain of this ship almost two years now, but he still enjoyed "exploring" it. She was the best that Starfleet had, even so long after her commission, due to LaForge's constant insistence for upgrades. During the gamma shift, she took on a slightly mysterious quality he enjoyed. 

Mysterious...With a smile he realized where his feet were taking him, and relaxed into pleasure as he finished the journey to the dorsal observation lounge. 

It was completely deserted, as usual, let alone in the middle of the night, but for some reason he engaged the privacy lock. He supposed he just wanted some time alone to commune with this "thing" outside his ship. 

It was so beautiful. The copper lace was almost completely gone, and only the flowering of the green -- actually, it was aqua now -- gas remained. He sat down on the soft couch and stared at the swirling mass a long while, admiring the unseen forces which could create something so lovely. 

"You think it's nice?" the man beside him asked. 

"Exquisite," he pronounced, relaxing utterly with the warmth he felt. Easily, he reached over and took one long-fingered hand into his own, doing nothing more than that, for now. They watched the spectacle together quietly, enjoying that the other was there to see it. 

After that long time, which suddenly took on the feeling of a patient wait, the body near him scooted a bit closer to him on the couch, and his other hand rested gently on the inside of Jean-Luc's thigh. Picard sighed with pleasure and would have turned to smile into the expressive face of his companion, except that his voice urged him: 

"No, it's all right. By all means, keep enjoying the view." 

Jean-Luc chuckled and rested his head back against the sofa, feeling that with the anomaly before him and that hand now stroking his thigh the entire universe had gotten involved in a plan to pleasure him. 

"Yesss," he hissed as that hand went to his groin and applied light pressure. "You always make it so good." 

"You're easy to please," the man responded, stroking him now, getting him to sigh and moan as the pressure increased. "I just have to move the earth." 

"What?" Picard said, his attention somewhat overwhelmed with the feel of all his blood rushing to his cock. Oh, he needed this. It felt wonderful, and somehow as he stared into the spatial anomaly outside his ship and felt that hand work on his body, it were as if the two things were connected, and the anomaly were making love to him. 

"I said you seem like sex given form and voice," his lover said now. "How about I drag down your pants and jerk you off?" 

"Yes!" Picard shouted. 

He was afraid suddenly of making too much noise, of being too active or something... but then his lover fulfilled his plan, releasing his painfully aroused cock from his tight uniform into the warm air of the room. Then a gentle series of touches coaxed feeling from him, tracing that vein underneath, dancing around the swollen head, then simply wrapping around him and stroking lightly, then harder, then harder still, until he came, joyously, into that grasp. He laughed with delight and turned to kiss his lover with an offer to pleasure him next. 

And woke up. 

"Damn!" he shouted into the empty room. His dream had vanished completely, the gases outside had swirled into a new pattern, it might well be past time for him to get up, and he had a dark, wet stain in the crotch of his uniform. 

"Computer, what is the time?" 

"06:38 hours." 

Well, then, he had a little time, and he recalled that he had at least managed to lock the door on his way in. 

This observation lounge sometimes served as a banquet hall, and there was a small galley to the port side. There he found a replicator and keyed in a confidential request for a new uniform. It appeared, and he stripped, disposed of the one he was wearing -- after using it to clean himself off -- and then dressed. 

It wasn't his uniform which most concerned him, however. There was definitely something strange going on here. Perhaps the anomaly was affecting him in some fashion. Perhaps he should be concerned for his crew. It was true that he felt absolutely wonderful, but they'd had dangerous problems with anomalies and dreams before. 

He resolved to speak to Beverly about any signs of unusual crew behavior and set off for his cabin and a long sonic shower. 

"Unusual signs of behavior?" Beverly asked when Picard questioned her in the morning staff meeting. "Not that I can think of." She called up some information on the display in front of her. "No, we haven't had anyone complain about anything out of the ordinary. In fact..." She frowned and called up more data. "There has been a slight drop, about 4%, in the number of unscheduled visits." 

Picard looked at Deanna. "Have people been coming to you about their dreams?" 

"No," the empath replied and she looked at him curiously. "Have _you_ been having unusual dreams, Captain?" 

Picard had known she was going to ask. "Nothing that I can remember, Counselor." He paused and decided that he could, at least partially describe what was happening to him. "I know that I'm having a large number of pleasant dreams, but I don't remember them much." He looked around the table curiously. 

"Well, Captain," LaForge said. "I haven't noticed a change in my dreaming, but I seem to be in a good mood a lot lately." 

Further conversation revealed that everyone at the meeting felt as though they were in better moods that usual. Finally, Picard shrugged. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it, but, Counselor, I'd like you to keep watch on the emotional levels on the ship." 

When Picard had dismissed everyone, Troi lingered behind, much as he'd expected her to. "It could just be that _you_ are in an unusually good mood these days." Picard raised an eyebrow at her. "The crew does take its cue from you, as much as you like to pretend they don't." Her eyes twinkled. "For instance, I would never have teased you like that if you weren't in a good mood." 

Picard smiled. "Counselor, about the dreams..." 

"Does it bother you that you can't remember them?" She looked at him shrewdly. "Or is it the nature of those dreams that worries you?" 

"Why do I even _try_ to hide anything from you?" 

"Would you believe that that was only a lucky guess?" She paused and then went on. "Does it bother you?" 

"Only because," Picard replied, choosing his words carefully, "at my age, one likes to think that one is no longer quite such a slave to one's hormones." 

"Provided one isn't a Betazoid," she said. "Captain, is there anyone...right now?" 

"No," he replied distractedly. He had the sudden image of a full, expressive mouth, but then it was gone. 

"If you'd like to learn how to remember your dreams, I can teach you some techniques." 

"Thank you, Counselor, I don't think I want to try that now, but I'll keep it in mind." 

It was only after Troi left that Picard admitted to himself that he didn't know if he _wanted_ to know who his dream lover was. He was beginning to think that all the dreams were about the same person, but he was rather enjoying guessing who that person was. He was also more than a little concerned that if he guessed the identity of his dream love, whatever was going on in his unconscious might be settled, and the dreams would stop. 

With a small wince, Picard recognized that under his desire for the dreams to continue was a simple wish not to be left alone, again, even by someone from his own mind. He was abruptly torn between wanting to shove the reaction aside as self-pitying, and feeling that he had a duty to explore the meaning of such an uncharacteristic thought. 

_Later,_ he finally pronounced. 

When Picard left the conference room and came onto the bridge, Data called him over to one of the science consoles. "This is most curious, Captain," he said, gesturing to a screen. "This is the display of the anomaly's radio emissions." 

Picard stared at the screen in surprise. "This is the current anomaly?" he asked. "The one that is inside the first anomaly?" 

"Astrophysics is referring to them as Escher One and Escher Two, Captain." 

The pattern of radio emissions looked almost exactly like the lace-like visual pattern of the original anomaly. "Mr. Data," Picard asked, "what are the odds of something like that happening?" 

"Do you really want to know, sir?" Data asked. Picard laughed. 

"No, I suppose I don't. Well, I have to meet with Ambassador Arlic. Keep me posted on this." 

Even a full day of wrangling with Arlic didn't succeed in dulling Picard's enthusiasm for the day. And after the day's round of negotiations, Picard inspected the flight decks. It was such a successful inspection that the senior flight deck officer, Lt. Galabria, invited him to dine with herself and the off-duty pilots. It turned out to be an enjoyable evening as he, Galabria, and a couple of the other senior pilots traded "no shit, there I was" stories, while the junior pilots looked at them with wide eyes, when they weren't laughing. 

If he'd had the ability (as a certain observer did) to listen to the conversation in Mess Hall C after he left, he would have been simultaneously gratified and embarrassed. 

"I've never seen the Old Man in such a good mood," one of the older flight controllers said to Galabria as the doors closed behind the captain. 

"I've been with him since right after the Battle of Wolf 359," Galabria replied. "Sometimes he'll loosen up like that, but you better appreciate it, because it sure doesn't happen often." She paused and thought for a moment. "Scuttlebutt says he's up to his ears in negotiations with that loony ambassador; maybe he just wanted to hang out with some fun people for a while." 

Just as Picard rounded the last turn in the corridor before his quarters, Data summoned him to the bridge, informing him the anomaly was going through another change. When he arrived on the bridge, he eagerly looked at the viewscreen, absently noting that most of the bridge crew were keeping tabs on the sight as well. 

"Are we dealing with the appearance of Escher Three, yet?" he asked Data. 

Almost as soon as he spoke, Escher Two expanded and folded back exactly the same way Escher One had. In its center was an oval form that looked almost as if it were made of liquid mercury. Picard glanced over Data's shoulder, and sure enough, the new anomaly, still resting within the second which still rested within the first, was larger than either of the other two anomalies. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," Data murmured. 

"Lewis Carroll, Mr. Data?" 

"A fascinating author, Captain, and that phase seems to fit a good number of the situations we have found ourselves in." 

"I've always thought so, Data," Picard replied, resting a hand on Data's shoulder for a moment. "What do the radio emissions from Escher Three look like?" he asked after they had watched the new anomaly for a time. 

Data called up the information and Picard felt almost disappointed that he didn't see the lace pattern. _Oh well,_ he thought, _I'm in no position to complain._

He backed off for a while, retreating to his ready room to write reports and give Data a chance to work without his commanding officer hanging over his shoulder. Finally, after checking up on the anomaly again, and finding himself almost hypnotized by its dull silver surface, he headed for his quarters and bed. 

As he picked up his book and prepared to read before falling asleep, he realized that he was taking it for granted that he would have another erotic dream tonight. In fact, he was looking forward to it. _This would be what it would be like to be involved with someone,_ he mused. How strange it was to anticipate something like this. 

He applauded enthusiastically as the baritone led the mezzo-soprano off stage and the strains of "Non piu andrai" faded as the curtain came down on the first act. It was really amazing that the Viennese hadn't like this work. Then again, Vienna's loss was Prague's gain, and the opera-loving people of Prague had taken _Le Nozze di Figaro_ to heart. This was the third time he'd attended this opera, and each time it seemed to get better. He turned to his companion. "Shall we risk the crush, or send my man?" 

"Send the man, by all means," was the reply, and Jean-Luc turned to give orders for refreshments to his footman. "Really, Jean-Luc, calling such a pretty boy a 'man,'" his companion said after the servant bowed and headed out of the box. 

"Is he pretty? I hadn't noticed. I don't notice anyone anymore, just you." 

"Flattery, my love, will get you far." 

"Really?" Picard moved into the seat behind the broad-shouldered man who shared the box with him. Brushing aside the queue of dark hair, he began kissing the other man's neck, breathing in deeply the smell of cologne. "How far?" he whispered into his lover's ear. 

As Jean-Luc's hands traveled down the plum velvet-covered sides of the man in front of him, and then along his outer thighs, he heard a soft moan. "My bed, my salon, my carriage..." He paused and groaned softly as Jean-Luc's hands slid upward and inward to caress the velvet-covered bulge in his lap. "If you keep...oh...doing that...ahhhh...you won't get any further...than the floor of...oh yes...this box..." He fell silent except for soft gasps and moans, all of which were obviously stifled as much as possible. "I never...expected this...of you..." 

Picard woke up. 

He was too wound up even to try to figure out who the dream lover was, and he was far too wound up for any sort of finesse in dealing with himself. Clinging to the memory of a velvet-covered body and the scent of spicy perfume, he briskly stroked his heavy, aching cock. When he came, it was a short, sharp, explosive release, and he heard himself yell in French as he climaxed. 

_Should I be more worried about this?_ he wondered as he took a quick sonic shower before heading back to bed. _It's not interfering with my command any, and it's making me a better diplomat._ He thought about his dinner with the pilots and flight control staff. _And maybe even a better captain._ He wondered if the anomaly had anything to do with it. It seemed unlikely, but a lifetime spent dealing with the unlikely made it difficult to dismiss the notion. _Oh, Jean-Luc,_ he thought as he headed back to bed. _Why is it so hard to suppose that you're having a streak of good luck?_ He chuckled into the silence of his room as he settled back into bed. _If nothing else, I'll come out of this with a stronger right forearm._

In the morning, he returned to the bridge as quickly as possible, wanting to spend as much time with the anomaly as he could before Arlic had his turn. The shape and color had not changed, though somehow it seemed only more beautiful. 

"Any changes in the radio emissions?" he asked Data, who sat tapping the controls at the conn with a little more enthusiasm even than usual. 

"Yes, sir," he responded, relaying the information to Picard's chair console. He discovered that again the lace pattern had appeared. 

"Damnedest thing I ever saw," Riker said at his side, making Troi smile. "I've finalized our initial report to Command, sir, if you're interested in looking it over." 

"Yes, certainly, Number One." Picard called up the report on his console, not wanting to retreat to his ready room and miss gazing at the anomaly. 

"I can't tell you how pleased I am at how much you like it," a warm voice said in his ear. 

"What are you doing here?" Picard demanded in surprise, turning to the tall body now crouched beside his chair and meeting a pair of dark brown eyes. 

"You don't sound pleased to see _me,_ though," he said in mock hurt, those full lips the captain so clearly remembered now pouting a bit. 

"Of course I'm pleased," Picard rumbled, swooping forward for a light kiss that sent old-fashioned tingles throughout his body. "I'm just surprised...pleasantly so." 

"You'll have to prove it better than that," the man challenged before placing his hands on his shoulders and pulling him in for a proper kiss: long and hard and deep. Vaguely he heard Riker chuckle and go back to his own duties. The captain necking with his lover was hardly an unusual or interesting sight next to the anomaly outside. 

_Oh, I love this,_ Picard thought as he grew slightly dizzy from excitement. He was exploring this generous mouth fully now, searching for all the spaces he remembered and cherished, looking for anything new his lover might like. Such perfect pressure on his lips, such a skilled tongue exploring his own mouth, and he moaned slightly, shifting in his seat to accommodate his lover's body as he suddenly straddled him in his chair. He moaned again at the pressure of that body against him, hard now and pulling his uniform tight. Somehow they would have to get themselves into his ready room before even his excellent crew's patience was strained too far. 

"Good lord," Picard moaned into his room as he woke up. Oh, he was nothing but an erection and a prostrate body to support it. Thank God he'd gone to bed naked. 

Feeling so decadent his face flushed bright red, he pushed the sheets away and lay there on his back, hard as a rock, as a mountain, and simply _felt_ his own arousal, seeing clearly in his mind the image he made. 

The watcher saw that image clearly as well: hand-crafted muscles, pale, smooth skin, except where he was pink and dark, dark red; everything in trim proportion; strength and sweetness. The man was perfection, beauty given a face and body, and sexual excitement given a cock covered in dripping velvet. Unable to help himself, even though the room did not have the air eddies of the shower, he brushed his consciousness just lightly past that straining organ and shuddered (non-corporeally) in pleasure when the man moaned. 

Slowly, Picard simply pumped the air one time, wondering if the stray current from the ventilation system would return. Then, sighing, he brought his hands to his stomach and lightly trailed his fingertips over his own flushed skin. He felt a stab of loneliness. His body was crying out for touches his own hands couldn't fully satisfy, and his hands were wishing fiercely for the soft skin of another. 

There. He remembered it clearly from the dream: soft skin, very warm and very... 

Picard grunted and moved his hands to his nipples, pressing hard, enjoying the sensation as he rarely did. He could not remember anything more than soft skin that seemed a little warmer than he would have expected, though perhaps it was simply the heat of sex he was thinking about. In any event, he knew that as soon as he touched his own cock he would come, so he played awhile longer with his nipples before his hands lightly trailed down the rest of the way. 

"Ohhhh," he breathed as his own hands covered him, caressed him. "So good." And it was. He came quickly, his whole body convulsing with the pleasure of it, and then he lay there a long time, ignoring the semen drying on his body, pleasantly sated, the lonely feeling gone as everything oozed contentment. 

_Beep, beep, beep, beep..._

"Off!" 

With a sigh, he got out of bed, stripped the sheets, re-made the bed, showered, dressed, ate, and went to the bridge. He actually had to restrain the depth of his smile and an urge to tell everyone how pleased he was to see them. 

"Any changes in the radio emissions?" he asked Data, who was standing at a science station at the rear of the bridge. 

"Yes, sir," the android responded, and for a moment Picard felt a sense of unease. But when he looked over Data's shoulder, he saw not the return of the lace pattern, but a series of interwoven sign waves that had no repeating pattern at all. 

"Extraordinary," he breathed. 

Riker walked up from his chair and looked at the read-out as well, then nodded and told him, "I've finalized our initial report to Command, sir, and sent it to your ready room for when you're interested in looking it over." 

"Yes, thank you, Number One." Picard nodded, frowning just slightly and about to say something further when Ambassador Arlic burst into the bridge. 

"I demand to know what..." the ambassador began, then trailed off as his attention was caught by the viewscreen. Everyone simply waited for him to continue. It was something of a long wait. "Oh," he said finally. "How extraordinary." 

Picard knew the universal translator had actually picked that word for whatever the Prytt ambassador had actually said, but he still smiled in fellow-feeling. 

"My thoughts exactly, Ambassador. I and my crew have been quite caught up in the study of it." 

"I...I knew something was going on, but..." He turned to look now at the captain, and faintly Picard could see on his face something besides the paranoid ambassador. He wondered if he were not talking to a scientist here. The idea surprised him. He wouldn't have thought the ambassador knew about the science of anything but eavesdropping devices. 

"Would you be interested in looking at our findings?" Picard asked the ambassador politely. 

"Interested?" Arlic breathed. "I'd be delighted." He almost seemed to be trying to force himself into his usual mode of suspicion when he added: "In return for what?" 

Picard shook his head. "The Federation tries to share as much of its non-military research as possible with as many people as possible. There are no strings attached." 

The normally mulish ambassador looked like a child on his birthday, and Picard found himself re-evaluating the man. Anyone who could see and appreciate the beauty spread out on the viewscreen before them was someone he could understand. "We'd welcome you views on our research," he said, and for once, his voice was not carefully polite. 

"Picard, may I speak to you alone?" Arlic asked. 

Picard nodded and gestured toward the observation lounge. As they walked past the science station he quietly asked Data to make their research available to the ambassador, and to load a summary onto a padd. 

"Ambassador," Picard asked once he was alone with Arlic. 

"Captain Picard, I have been trying to conduct these negotiations the way my government wishes. I'm an astronomer, actually, not a diplomat, but they wouldn't send a government official, or Prytt forbid, a military officer to deal with you." He looked down at his hands. "We have our reasons for being as cautious as we are, but that's neither here nor there at the moment." 

"And it was the anomaly that made you decide to tell me this?" Picard let his mild skepticism color his voice and Arlic shrugged sheepishly. 

"Not exactly; to tell the truth, I was getting tired of this whole thing. I probably would have given up on this idiotic charade eventually." He sighed. "But I must admit that when I knew what was keeping you occupied..." 

"It's one of the most fascinating anomalies I've ever seen," Picard said, smiling. He seemed to be smiling a lot lately, but he couldn't help it. 

"This side of Starfleet, the exploratory side you keep talking about, it's not just talk, is it?" Arlic sounded almost wistful. 

"No," Picard replied sincerely. 

Arlic nodded. He seemed to be lost in thought for a while. "Captain Picard, perhaps we need to take a bit of a break from our sessions. I would like to look at the research your people have done, and maybe after that..." 

"There's a Human expression," Picard said, "about clearing the air." Arlic nodded, and they decided to take up their negotiations the next afternoon. 

Picard, left with a large chunk of time on his hands and not wanting to bother Data and the Astrophysics Department too much, decided that he could do with some exercise. He made his way to a holosuite and called up his Golden Gate Park program. He wasn't at all surprised when he realized that the random weather program had given him a lovely, sunny day. Replicating shorts and shoes, he stripped off most of his uniform and changed. After carefully stretching out, he picked a path that would eventually take him down to Ocean Beach and began to run. 

It felt good, he reflected as he found his stride. He hadn't had much opportunity to push himself physically lately, between the negotiations and the anomaly. _Well, you've been pushing one part of yourself physically,_ he thought wryly. _Or is that pulling, Johnny?_ He laughed out loud and sped up, determined to make as much out of this sudden startling period of good luck as possible. 

An hour later, he was lying on his stomach on one of the reinforcing walls, watching the activity on the beach. People were walking their dogs, or flying kites, or surfing, or playing with children. Just a sunny day at the beach, he thought, enjoying the view. Four cadets in Academy sweats showed up and produced a Frisbee. When a wild throw on the part of one of them sent the plastic disc flying in his direction, he started to sit up to try to catch it. 

"I've got it," a familiar voice said, and Jean-Luc relaxed as his lover caught the Frisbee and then threw it in a perfect arc toward the cadet who had thrown it wild. 

"Thanks," she yelled. 

"Sorry I'm late," Jean-Luc's lover said to him as he waved at the young woman. "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Name my punishment." 

"Never mind that," Picard chuckled, sitting up. Their lips met in a perfect kiss, and Picard could feel his nerves catch fire as they always did. 

"Well, I already had my punishment. I missed seeing you run." As Picard blushed faintly, the other man went on. "You're so compact and graceful, so powerful. I could watch you for hours." He paused to run an appreciative hand along the inside of one of Picard's thighs. "You have incredible legs. Can I tell you what I want to do to you someday?" Picard nodded, shivering at the feel of those large hands gliding over his skin. 

"I want to put you up on the model stand, naked, and cover you with oil until every centimeter of your skin gleams." 

"Mmmmm..." 

"I'd do it slowly too," his lover said, letting his hands roam over Picard's bare arms. "And then, when you're all oiled up and shining, I'll flood the studio with light...gold-filtered light." He paused to smooth Jean-Luc's tank top over his chest, slowing down as his hands brushed across Picard's already hard nipples. "You'll probably already be worked up, but just to make sure, I'll take that extraordinary cock in my mouth and run my tongue over every last bit of it until you're hanging on the edge." Picard moaned at the thought, and his lover smiled. "And then I'll start taking pictures." 

"Of me? Like that?" 

"Why not?" The dark eyes in that expressive face looked a little hurt, and Picard hastened to explain: 

"Well, you usually don't go for stationary objects. Your best works are stills of bodies in motion, like that snow leopard sequence." Picard smiled wickedly. "I'm not that fast, but I could manage something." 

"Like maybe touching yourself?" 

"Great minds..." 

"Ohhh, Jean-Luc. Just the thought..." 

There was a loud squawk from a gull, and Picard suddenly sat up. He was on the wall overlooking the beach, awake and desperately aroused. "Computer, time." 

"The time is 14:50," the computer replied. 

"Computer, replace this sector of the program with Sector 47." In a blink, Picard was sitting on a small bench looking over one of the smaller ponds in the park. There was no one nearby, and it was with great relief that he reached down and began to stroke his erection through his shorts. All he could remember of the dream was a smooth, rich voice saying something erotic. It was enough: at the thought of that voice (deep for a woman, he remembered) and the way it had fired his nerves, he came with a low groan. 

"I don't see anything wrong with you," Beverly noted, looking over the extremely detailed results of her final scans. 

"You sound disappointed." 

The doctor smiled and pushed a lock of blond hair from her face. "I'm just trying to find something to explain why you've actually come in _early_ for your checkup. I was expecting the Telurian Plague at the very least." 

A cloud shadowed Picard's face, though it was obvious he was trying to maintain the teasing note of the conversation. "Irumodic Syndrome not good enough for you?" 

But Beverly actually smiled at him, though she felt a little guilty for not simply announcing this the second she was sure: "Actually, that lesion I found in your parietal lobe is gone. I'd say that Irumodic Syndrome is another part of Q's possible future that doesn't seem to be working out." 

A relief greater than Picard had realized he would feel washed through him, and he was suddenly wishing that he could go straight to bed. It disturbed him, though it did nothing to diminish his relief, but he wanted to share the news with his dream lover. 

He shook the thought off. Now was not the time to be worrying. He smiled as happily as he felt and watched his old friend blink at him. And then they hugged, most unprofessionally, and kissed each other on the cheek. 

"Dinner?" he asked. "I think I have a bottle of wine that goes admirably with celebration and good company." 

She smiled and looked at him somewhat admonishingly. "I don't think I should be that selfish, Jean-Luc." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Do you honestly think I'm not going to tell everyone about this? Do you really believe they aren't going to need to spend a little time with you?" 

The captain warmed at the thought of what she was saying, and his smile, though embarrassed, deepened. "The command staff has a late afternoon conference," he said, and she nodded back. 

In fact, it was quickly time for the conference, and Picard was soon listening to Data's detailed analysis of the latest readings on the anomaly. 

"From these, I predict that we will witness the appearance of Escher 4 sometime tomorrow morning," the android finished. 

"See that the ambassador gets a personal invitation to join us on the bridge for that," Picard told Riker, who nodded. 

"There have been no signs of navigation hazard produced by the anomaly so far," Riker put in, "but I want to continue to keep the ship at a safe distance, and running engine diagnostics on a double schedule." 

Data and LaForge nodded. 

"I'm keeping a close watch on the crew as well, Captain," Troi reported, privately wondering what made him and Beverly feel so pleasantly expectant, "but I've still sensed nothing to indicate a hazard there either." 

Picard nodded. 

"If that's it, then..." Riker started. 

"Actually," the captain began, sitting up a little straighter with a breath, "I have some news from my physical today that I and Beverly thought you should hear." 

That announcement might have produced dread in his officers, except for the smile which accompanied it. Troi felt a stab of hope so sharp she almost gasped. 

"It seems that what might have been the sign of early Irumodic Syndrome has cleared up, and there's no trace of any potential disorder at this time." 

Picard could not possibly have been more flattered or felt more valued by the reaction around the table. They all laughed with relief, congratulated him and Beverly more than once, then talked excitedly about that alternate future and the worries it caused them. Data looked ready to fly, Riker slapped him on the back and didn't even think to apologize, LaForge kept laughing, Troi cried. 

"I'll have to tell Worf about this," Picard overheard Will tell Beverly. 

"He'll probably tell us all about some brutal Klingon ceremony to honor good fortune," Troi groaned, wiping tears away. 

"As long as I don't have to be jabbed with painsticks," Picard told them, "I suppose I could endure it." 

In the end, the conference wound up in Riker's room with a spontaneous stand-up buffet (courtesy of the replicator) and some wine Picard liberated from his stores. It was odd, the captain thought more than once, how much he'd underestimated what his possible disease had meant to his crew. But then he thought of how he would feel if he knew of such a thing with one of them. 

In fact, he could do better than simply imagine such a thing. He had not told them the details of Deanna's early death. Indeed, he didn't remember them very well himself. But he knew enough, he believed, to prevent it, and he'd sworn to himself he would. When the date for the tragedy was behind him without incident, he would open up a bottle all on his own, and know a relief as great as the one he felt today. 

Eventually, the party ran down. They all had early shifts and Escher 4 to face tomorrow, and with a kiss on the cheek from Beverly and Troi, a lengthy discussion of his emotion chip from Data, a joke about a Ferengi and a Dabo girl from LaForge, and yet another firm press of his hand on his shoulder from Riker, Picard made his contented way back to his cabin, stripped, showered, and got into bed naked. 

"Oh, I'm addicted to you," his lover said as they snuggled closer together in their joined sleeping bag. The camp was set up for the night, and their climbing equipment was packed safely away from the cold. It might freeze in the night, and they had set up their tent far from any possible avalanche paths. Indeed, they'd been fortunate to find a good spot under a peak of solid rock and surrounded by the last of the trees. 

Tomorrow they would reach the summit. Mount Kah'pah wasn't a difficult climb, really, only a beautiful one. 

Picard felt his pleasantly sore muscles relax as his lover's hands moved over his body, finding their way inside his thermal suit. The air in the tent was warming quickly, and, as Picard reciprocated with his own touches, his lover's body was warmer still. 

"I thought you were only addicted to climbing," he teased, "and that I was just a fringe benefit." 

"You know you're my most important thing to mount," the man in his arms leered. Outside, a timber wolf's howl could be faintly heard. "Or would you rather do me?" 

"I don't care," Picard groaned, feeling cheated that he wasn't kissing his lover right now. "As long as we do it together, I don't care what it is." 

And then they did kiss, and he was amazed, always so amazed at the heat which completely flooded him as those full lips pressed to his own. He was made for this, and his lover was made for it as well, fitting together with him so perfectly, their bodies, their interests, their characters. Their love seemed inevitable and correct, as though a scientific proof could demonstrate that they belonged together. 

Skilled hands were moving urgently over his body now, leaving trails of luminescent warmth. Somehow they would have to maneuver around their clothes and the bag and... 

"Ooohhh," he breathed as his cock pressed forward through the parting of all that cloth to find his partner's bare hip. They both squirmed, laughing, until they were pressed together, and all thoughts of more complex choreography melted away to leave only that basic and yet perfect thrusting, stimulating them, getting them ready to go right over the edge. 

His lover nibbled on his ear, and he thought he would simply explode. 

"Ugh," he said, waking up and automatically rolling over into his own hand, stroking only a few times, still half-asleep, and then coming in a hot rush. 

Still mostly asleep, and foggily assuming that he'd have one more dream before morning, Picard simply moved to the other side of the bed. He'd clean up in the morning. 

He tested the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, smiling when he realized that he was unable to escape. He relaxed then, knowing that he couldn't do anything about his situation, because he didn't want to do anything about his situation. The door to the room opened and he heard a sharp gasp. 

"Jean-Luc, what...?" 

"All for you," he said. "You can do anything you want with me." 

"Anything? Should we have some sort of...signal...a word or something?" 

"We don't need one. I _trust_ you. If it gets to be too much for either of us, it ends." 

Picard's lover smiled and slowly nodded. "Oh, the things I can do to you." He came over to sit on the edge of the bed, and Jean-Luc was suddenly aware of the contrast between his own nakedness and his lover's clothes. He shivered with anticipation. 

His lover laid a hand, ever so gently, on Jean-Luc's face. He stroked Jean-Luc's cheek for a moment and then slipped two fingers inside Picard's mouth. "Get them wet," he murmured, and Jean-Luc licked and sucked at the fingers, wishing he had a different part of his lover's anatomy to do this to. 

_I gave up my control,_ he reminded himself. _I left it up to him._ The thought, which should have been terrifying, made Picard blink slightly, fighting back tears. It was overwhelming to love someone this much, to trust another like this. It was so infinitely precious, and he couldn't believe the luck he'd had in finding his amazingly perfect lover. 

He was startled out of his thoughts when his lover pulled dripping fingers out of his mouth and replaced them with the fingers of his other hand. As soon as they were wet too, he reached down and began to play with Jean-Luc's nipples, tugging at them until they slid out of his slippery grasp, and then doing it again, and again, and again. Jean-Luc was beginning to writhe with pleasure, when his lover stopped and bent over his chest. He blew on the wet, sensitive nubs and Jean-Luc moaned and twisted as the air made him even more sensitive. 

He'd assumed that his lover would move elsewhere, but he didn't. Instead he continued playing with Jean-Luc's nipples, until the man was sure that he was going to come from that stimulation alone. He didn't, but he got more and more aroused, and it didn't bother him when he began to whimper almost helplessly. It was so liberating to lie here and let his lover make the decisions. Jean-Luc knew that this torment would lead to an explosive release and, given the way his lover seemed almost transfixed by what he was doing, the other man seemed to be enjoying it as well. 

Finally, Jean-Luc's lover moved down the bed. He bent his head, and Jean-Luc groaned as he anticipated the touch of that talented, lovely mouth on his cock. The groan turned to one of frustration, as his lover settled for kissing the sensitive skin of Jean-Luc's inner thighs. Picard tried to let go, tried to hold out, but soon he was twisting in a desperate attempt to get some of those kisses to land on his erection. Finally, with a relief that startled him even as it washed over him, he opened his mouth. 

"Please..." 

"You want something?" 

"Please, my cock...oh please..." 

The second "please" was hardly past his lips when that hot tongue delicately flicked at the taut skin of Jean-Luc's cock. "Yessss..." Jean-Luc hissed, arching his hips hungrily. 

His lover chuckled, and Jean-Luc felt that warm breath envelop him. Surely he was harder than he ever had been, and he wasn't certain if he'd be able to hold out against too much more teasing. His worries were silenced by a sudden pressure against the base of his cock, and he realized that his lover had snapped a cock ring about him. Jean-Luc relaxed then and gave himself over to the sensations that rippled through his body as his lover began to tease his cock in earnest. 

He started incredibly softly, placing gentle kisses along the entire length of Jean-Luc's aching erection, while his hands clamped down on Jean-Luc's hips, holding him still. Then he carefully nipped at that tender skin, keeping his lips over his teeth so that the effect was more like a gentle pinch. Jean-Luc was moaning almost continuously now, sure that there was nothing in the world but his cock and his lover's mouth. He was overwhelmed by his simultaneous need to come and his need to have this go on forever, until there was nothing in his universe but the sensation his lover was giving him. 

He was so caught up in the slow burn of his nerves and the careful tease that he almost passed out when that mouth slid down over his cock in a rush of wet heat. Straining against the cuffs and his lover's hands, Jean-Luc cried out, his voice almost a scream. He moaned at the sharp need he felt when that dark head moved up again, letting Jean-Luc's erection almost free before sliding down again. And it kept happening, over and over, that mouth plunging down over him and then pulling away until Jean-Luc was sure he was going to go insane. He was dimly aware that he was babbling, pleading for an orgasm with one breath, crying out words of love with the next, and always begging for the pleasure to go on forever. 

Finally, when time no longer had any meaning and Jean-Luc was aware of nothing but his own cock, his lover paused and that incredible voice told him: "You're going to come in my mouth." A second later, the pressure at the base of his cock disappeared, and the mouth moved back down over Jean-Luc, sucking hard. 

Jean-Luc screamed and came, thrashing violently on his bed, almost arching clear of the mattress. When he opened his eyes, he was amazed that there wasn't a dark head buried between his legs and for a moment he remained spread out, sure he wasn't going to be able to move. Then he was waking up and the remnants of the dream were fading back to wherever it was that dreams went when he woke up. He lay on the bed for a long time, shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and when he moved, it was to rub at his wrists. He'd been restrained, he suddenly remembered, and it had been incredible, nothing like he'd ever imagined bondage to be when he'd read about it. 

As he finally sat up and prepared to shower and meet the day, he felt a pang of sorrow when he realized that the only place he'd found a lover that he trusted that much was in his dreams. 

An hour later, he was on the bridge, looking over Data's shoulder as the android pointed to a monitor. The lace pattern was back, this time the result of a Berthold radiation scan. "If I couldn't see it," Picard said, "I wouldn't believe it. How much do the patterns match?" 

Data manipulated his monitor and the visual record of Escher One appeared. He then superimposed the radio emission reading and the Berthold radiation reading on top of the copper lace. "They are exact," he said, his own voice amazed. 

"That's impossible!" a voice snapped from behind Picard. 

"And yet, Ambassador, it exists," Data replied. 

"Are you sure that this is not some sort of elaborate simulation, Picard?" 

Picard sighed. Reasonable or not, apparently the Prytt scientist couldn't let go of his acculturated suspicion all that easily. "Ambassador," he replied, letting his incredible mood, color his voice with humor, "a simulation like that would require a huge drain on a number of key sections aboard the Enterprise. Would you like to see our current systems status reports?" 

Arlic looked at the monitor and then at the viewscreen before he looked back at Picard. "No, Captain. It's just that something like this is almost unimaginable." 

"The universe is not only stranger than we imagine,'" Picard quoted, "'it's stranger than we _can_ imagine.'" 

"What an interesting thing to say," Arlic said. 

"Hardly original, I'm afraid," Picard replied. "It was said on Earth 300 years ago by man named Arthur C. Clarke, a scientist who also wrote science-fiction. I served briefly aboard a starship named after him and that quote was on her dedication plaque." 

"Captain!" 

Troi's voice pulled Picard from his conversation with the ambassador. He looked at the viewscreen. "Escher Four," he said softly. 

"Right on schedule," Data noted. 

The silver bauble of the anomaly crackled like ice, and from each crevice shimmered out a broken prism. A hundred million tiny spectra -- each perhaps a hundred kilometers long -- spread out slowly across the backdrop of the cosmos and transmuted the lights of a billion stars. 

Even Data gasped. 

For several long minutes the monitoring systems of the Enterprise worked without direction from their users, automatically measuring the depth and breadth and frequency of the various aspects of the anomaly. Everyone on the bridge, and many of the rest of the crew who had positioned themselves near either a viewscreen or a window, simply stared, trying to see it all before the kaleidoscope changed. 

But when it did change, it only became more beautiful. The prisms began to refract each other, until the entire panoply was multiplied into a dazzling pallet of every color imaginable, glowing and shimmering with the swirling gases which gave it form. 

Picard stared until his eyes dried, blinked hard, and stared some more. It was a thing of incalculable beauty, and, as he watched it grow and form, he found himself wishing his dream lover were real so that he could share it with her. 

Slowly, and a little self-consciously, they all came back into themselves and began to work on analyzing Escher 4, which was indeed even bigger than Escher 3. Data set to work on seeing if he could find a new version of the lace pattern, and two hours and forty-seven minutes later thought to run a multi-level, interphasic graviton scan. 

"Captain. Ambassador," he called quietly. 

The two men, currently engaged in a discussion of the possible sources of the gamma radiation they were reading inside the anomaly, hurried to ops, where Data's read-out of his last scan clearly showed the lace pattern. Once again, he super-imposed the lace pattern from the first read-out and again got an identical match. 

"There must be an intelligence at work here," Arlic said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and wincing. "It's as if that pattern were hidden from you, a challenge for you to find." 

Picard thought about that one. It had occurred to him before this that there might be a mind creating such an incredibly rare phenomenon, but there was at least one problem with the hypothesis: 

"There are no signs of any planets capable of supporting life as we know it within four parsecs of this location," Data said. Indeed, the Prytt had chosen this route precisely because it was so deserted. 

"Well, anyone with the power to create and manipulate something like this anomaly would surely be able to hide themselves from us," Arlic reasoned. 

"You may be right," Picard said with a smile. Why not? "It would certainly be worthwhile to attempt to contact them. Mr. Data, have the ship put out a repeating hail, all frequencies and languages. Let's see if we can get anyone to respond." 

Arlic turned to him with wide eyes. "You're going to send out a message...just like that? What if they're hostile?" 

Picard smiled. "Anyone with the power to create and manipulate something like this anomaly would surely be able to do us a great deal of harm whether we're friendly or not. Federation ships look to make contact. That's why we're out here." 

The ambassador frowned, but said nothing further as Data set up the message. Picard realized he was really hungry. 

"Would you join me for lunch, Ambassador?" The man had yet to agree to invitations to eat with him yet, but Picard saw no harm in continuing to try. 

"No," Arlic said, almost regretfully this time. "No...I will eat in my quarters. We are still 'on' for this afternoon, correct?" 

"I look forward to it," Picard said smoothly. 

Arlic nodded and left the bridge. Riker wryly met his captain's eyes, and then went back to his own tactical examination of the anomaly. Powerful or not, if there were sentient aliens attached to this anomaly, he was going to be ready for whatever they had in mind. 

Picard sighed in very quiet satisfaction -- exchanging a small look with Troi, of course -- as he turned for his ready room. There was really no substitute for a staff like his, and he thought in a rare moment of affection that he wouldn't trade them for a hundred anomalies. 

After getting a sandwich and a cup of Earl Grey from the replicator, he headed for his desk and, sitting there, plowed his way through a satisfactory amount of paperwork. Right on schedule, he met Arlic in the conference room and they talked some of negotiations, but mostly of the anomaly. Jean-Luc was finding out quite a bit he had in common with the man, when it came to appreciating the lights of cosmos, anyway. 

After that, he spent another three hours on the bridge, almost hypnotized by the beauty of the prisms, and listened to Data's predictions of the arrival of Escher Five the following day. 

"How many Eschers will there be?" 

"I have no idea, sir," the android admitted. "Energy readings indicate an almost unlimited supply of power, though the source is unknown." 

"Do we know anything certain about the anomaly at all, Data?" 

"Only that it exists in at least fourteen separate dimensions, sir." 

"Fourteen?" Picard shook his head and realized he was tired. A light dinner, and then...his body grew very slightly warm at the thought of "and then." Thank God Troi wasn't on the bridge, or she might wonder why he'd suddenly developed an attraction for Data. 

Keeping the smile off his face only because he knew it would confuse his second officer, Picard wished Data a pleasant evening, told him to contact him at any sign of change in the anomaly, and headed for his quarters. 

There, he practically ate standing up over the replicator, then stripped and slid naked into bed. 

_By all rights I shouldn't have anything happen in my dreams at all,_ he thought, a little exasperated with himself over the whole affair. Dream lovers and jerking off twice a night were not part of his selected idiom. He should get up right now and put on his sleeping attire. 

The blue racquetball _smacked!_ off the racquet in his hand and hit the wall only an inch from the corner. His partner dived for it, but it was an impossible return. 

"Game!" he shouted, not bothering to hide how pleased he was with himself. 

"A good one, Jean-Luc," the tall man he adored agreed, picking himself off the floor and dusting himself off with a grin. They were well-matched players, well-matched lovers: equal and yet so different, a constant challenge, a constant reassurance. "I know what you're thinking of." 

"It's what I'm always thinking of when I look at you," Picard admitted. 

The man made a mock-grimace of distaste. "But I'm all sweaty." 

With something more than a mock-growl, Picard strode over the court and didn't stop until he had his lover pressed back against the blue grid of the black wall. Yes, he could smell the man's sweat, salty and strong, just the way it tasted on his tongue as he licked along his jaw, nibbled on his chin, and then plundered the full lips of that perfect, skilled mouth. 

"Ohhhh," his lover said. "If you do that to me here we'll never make it to the shower." 

"There's more privacy here than in the shower," Picard groaned, letting his knees buckle so they both started sliding to the floor. "Besides, I've reserved the court for another half-hour." 

"What are we waiting for, then?" his lover groaned back, pushing slightly so that Jean-Luc wound up beneath him as they stretched out over the floor. Strong hands began to peel off his bodysuit even as he was practically ripping his lover's body bare. He had this sudden feeling that it had been forever since he'd been naked with him, and he wanted to continue licking and nibbling him all over his long, strong body. 

"So good to touch you," he murmured. "So good to hold you, to taste you and feel you and be with you." 

Damn. He was in bed alone now with another incredible hard-on, and his hands were empty of all but the sheets. He knew he'd bring himself off in a minute, but right now he felt bereft. If only he could return to...wherever he had been, he wished as he rolled over to press his erection into the sheets. 

"So good to be here with you," his lover whispered as his lips trailed lightly over Picard's stomach. "I would do _anything_ for you, do you know that?" 

Picard couldn't take it anymore. With a shudder, he rolled them over so that he was lying between his lover's legs, and then he simply thrust down, rubbing them together, as he sucked and nibbled on two perfect rose-gray nipples. 

"If I raised my legs," the body beneath him panted out, "you'd be inside me. Would you like that?" 

Picard thought about that, and came with a roar. In the middle of it, as hot and powerful as the climax was, he was able to stare into his lover's eyes, trying to commit every detail of that expressive face to memory, reveling in the pleasure and triumph he saw there, astonished at the love for him so openly on display. 

"I love you," he said. 

"I love you, Jean-Luc. I always have." 

There, that was better. He woke up surrounded by wet, sticky sheets, and he felt wonderful: loved and sated and happy. 

Feeling foolish, and still happy, he got out of bed and took a quick shower. He had another four hours of sleep left, and he didn't want to miss out on whatever his subconscious was going to come up with next. He was still resisting the thought of going to Troi and having her teach him how to remember his dreams. He wanted to figure this out on his own and he wanted to revel in the mystery for a while longer. He changed his sheets, and slid back into bed. 

They had been chased for blocks, until he remembered a little-used out building just off a tiny alley. Careful to leave no trace of their passage, they slipped into the building and listened for their pursuers. Feet in hobnailed sandals ran down the alley, but no one thought to check the shed. He turned and grinned at his partner and knew that his grin was returned, even though neither of them could see each other. 

"I can't believe we did it!" he whispered. 

"I hope it's enough for Cicero to bring Catalina down," his partner replied. "You were good, you sneaky Gallic bastard; I've never seen anyone scale a wall so quickly." 

"Roman git," he replied, warmly. "But you do have a way with your fists." He began to laugh, trying to muffle it in case Catalina's thugs were better than they seemed to be. 

"What?" 

"I'm just thinking of the way that one lowlife went over the wall when you punched him." 

He went to clap his hands over his mouth to stifle the laughter that kept threatening at the memory of the ex-gladiator's face as he fell backwards over the wall. Before he could use his hands, his partner's mouth came down hard on his own. 

It was a shock, a delightful, delicious, unanticipated shock. He'd been so sure that he'd kept his interest in the other man to himself. These Romans could be so conservative when it came to certain matters, and he hadn't wanted to risk such a good working relationship with an advance of an inappropriate nature. But now he was being kissed with expertise and passion, and kissing back with the strength of two years of pent-up longing. 

His hands moved quickly to the hem of the other's tunic and he slid his fingers over the hard, muscled thighs he'd seen so many times in the gymnasium and the baths after. Then his hands moved inward, discovering a hard, straining cock, which, even as he touched it, began to leak. Still kissing the other man, he began to stroke that cock, knowing that finesse could wait for more favorable circumstances. 

He tore his mouth away from his new lover's lips and murmured. "I hope you don't think I'm always this quick, or that this is all you'll get from me." 

"I doubt it..." his partner gasped, "given the...yesss....way...you...ahhh...kiss...a mouth like...that...must be...oh Gods...good for...other things...ohhh!" 

"Just you wait," he promised in a low whisper. He increased the strength and pressure of his stroking, and, just in time, kissed the other man again. His lover screamed into his mouth and came into his grasp, the hot cum almost burning his hands. 

Jean-Luc was already stroking his cock as he woke up, and in a second, he'd come. He lay in a daze trying to figure out what he'd been doing to his dream lover, besides kissing her, but he couldn't remember. Not that it mattered; he had a new anomaly to face. 

The glowing prisms split and seemed to spin until they were so dazzling that everyone had to look away. When they looked back, they were looking at a white patch of space dotted with black stars. A quick glance at the navigation plot told Picard that he was seeing space as he'd normally see it if the anomaly weren't there, only he was seeing it as if through a photographic negative. 

"Data?" Picard asked after looking at the new anomaly for a few moments. "How exact a reversal is this? Are the spectra of the various stars we're seeing here exact opposites of their counterparts?" 

"One moment, Captain." Data bent over his console for a moment and then looked up at Picard and the ambassador who was hovering behind the captain. "Yes, sir, they are exact opposites." 

"Oh," groaned Arlic. 

"What is it Ambassador?" Picard asked, torn away from the fascination of Escher 5 for the moment. 

"No one at home is going to believe this," Arlic said, sadly. 

"I suppose offering you a complete recording of everything won't help." 

"No, probably not..." the Prytt's voice trailed off. "Well, Dr. Leral might believe me," he said, almost to himself. 

"A friend?" Picard asked. 

"No!" Arlic replied and then changed the subject, asking Data about the gamma radiation signatures. 

Picard let the matter drop for now, resolving to ask Arlic about it later. "Leral" was a Kes name and Picard wondered if there were scientists on the divided planet that tried to work around their restrictive governments. It had happened between scientists during the US-USSR Cold War and on Vulcan in the early days of the Reformation. If it were happening here, it was an encouraging sign. 

The anomaly continued to fascinate. Riker told him that no one aboard was talking about anything else. "In their off-duty time, of course," the first officer added, as he gave Picard his informal weekly status report. 

Picard smiled. "I hate to suggest it, Number One, but..." 

"Time for a surprise battle drill?" 

"All right, out with it," Picard replied with affection. "What have you come up with this time, Will?" 

Riker's initial scheme was moderately diabolical, and he and the captain spent three hours making it extremely diabolical. The Romulans were going to attack during the emergence of Escher 6, and the ship was going to be boarded during the attack. Picard and Riker were going to be killed in the first wave and then they'd direct the Aggressors from the Observation Lounge. 

"What about the ambassador?" Riker asked, once plans for the first wave of the attack were firmed up and they were calling up the Beta watch security teams and telling them that they'd be Romulans the next morning. 

"Merde!" Picard muttered, then he grinned. "We'll tell him what's going on, that we have to be busy, and we'll set up one of the holodecks as a lab for him. I'll tell him that since I can't observe Escher 6... 

"...I'd very much appreciate any assistance you can give us." 

"I understand, Captain." Arlic said gravely as they sat together over tea and lem-juk in the conference room. "Thank you for telling me; we don't always get warnings like this at home." 

Picard knew better than to pursue that line, and he tactfully changed the subject. The lace pattern had appeared way down in the theta band radiation given off by the anomaly, and Picard used that to lead the discussion to some of the anomalies he encountered while captain of the Stargazer. 

Arlic hesitantly countered with some tales of his first astrological survey, mentioning that it was this event which had led him to meet his first wife. 

"She was highly skilled," the ambassador said, and there was more than a touch of sorrow in his eyes. "And very beautiful. We had thought to have children, and raise them to be scientists as well." 

Picard restrained himself from asking what happened to her, and this seemed to spur Arlic on to an extraordinary confidence: "Her work came under scrutiny, and there was talk of a sedition charge. She could not stand the disgrace and...exited this life for the security of Prytt." 

"I'm very sorry." 

Arlic frowned. "She acted with the good of the people in her heart. Nor is my current wife any less devoted to Prytt...though she is not a scientist." 

"What does she do?" 

Arlic looked uncomfortable, and Picard was about to suggest a change in topic when he replied, "She is a children's artist. She works with the government." 

_She makes government-approved propaganda pictures for children's books,_ Picard translated. _You can't get much safer than that._

And then Picard berated himself for any arrogance he felt. Look at him: currently intimately engaged with a dream lover whose face he couldn't remember, and not so much as a steady girlfriend in more years than he wanted to count. It was amazing that Arlic had managed to recover enough to have any sort of relationship after his first wife's suicide. 

"I would like to see them sometime," he said politely, not surprised when Arlic looked uncomfortable instead of pleased. 

"Perhaps," he said, looking down at his empty lem-juk mug. "But first we must agree on the exact nature of the security protocols for non-emergency, non-military, generally classified transmissions between Prytt and Starfleet." 

The captain sighed very quietly before saying politely but clearly once _again_ that Starfleet did not have security protocols for such transmissions and wasn't about to initiate them in order to please the Prytt's level of paranoia. 

He and Riker had an evening meeting scheduled to go over the last of the battle drill plans, so Picard ate an early supper in his cabin and then sat down for forty minutes with a Klingon translation of _Anthony and Cleopatra_ that he had read about in an article in the latest issue of the TDR. Evidently, the interpretation was more than a little amusing. 

Picard smiled to himself. He still had no idea what he'd dreamed about last night, other than really hot sex, but somehow as he started in on the conspiracy scenes, he felt something tickle his memory. He tried to pull it closer to him. Something about long legs under a short skirt. 

"Bring the slave forward." 

Not bothering to raise his head from the chaise lounge pillow, the Pharaoh watched the people below him draw back slightly from his platform. The palm-fronds moved gently above him, stirring the warm air and settling over him a suitably divine atmosphere of luxuriant calm to counter his own anticipation. 

He really enjoyed it when visiting ambassadors presented him with new slaves. He had pleasure in determining their skills and selecting which of his many power-and-status-hungry minions he would select to receive the slave as a gift. As the Pharaoh, he already had enough slaves to last this lifetime and well into the next, and he considered himself quite the connoisseur. 

One of his best slaves, a girl from the Hobryn village not far from the papyrus fields of the northern Nile, leaned over him then to offer him a sip of wine, not moving until he raised a hand to decline. Her lean body was beginning to soften, the jutting curves of her fresh young breasts straining against the white robes he had all his household slaves wear. Languidly, he moved his raised hand to pull the top of her robe down and expose the soft globes. Taking the nipple of the left one between his fingertips, he listened to her gasp, eyes kept lowered, while the small tip of her tongue ran along her full lower lip. 

"You are very beautiful," he said absently, cupping her breast now. He toyed with the idea of having her do something more, but couldn't decide what it might be. 

"Thank you, Pharaoh," she whispered, and he could see that she was trembling. Well, after all, they both knew what an honor it would be for her to be fucked by a god. Perhaps her sturdy body might bear him a son. 

Suddenly, he grew bored with the whole thing, and left her alone. "Sweeter wine," he told her, keeping the order gentle. "Today is a day for sweeter wine." 

"Yes, Pharaoh," she replied quietly, rising just enough to walk off the platform. A male slave came forward to meet her, and together they set off for the wine room. 

He turned back to the ambassador now and saw that the new slave had arrived. 

A tall man, with the dark hair and full lips of a Northerner and the defiant eyes of a freeborn. A war captive, perhaps, or a tribute offering. His body was not overtly muscled, though he looked well enough in his loincloth. His skin, however, was quite amazing: paler than one would expect outside of royalty, olive-colored and smooth and nearly flawless. No whip had ever been laid to that back, he thought, as the ambassador signaled for the slave to turn. The man did make the requisite circle, his ankle chains rattling slightly, but there was arrogance even in his obedience. When he settled back into place, his eyes seemed merely to be looking at the floor, rather than downcast, and he sighed slightly, as though bored. 

"Come closer," the Pharaoh ordered. 

The expression on that haughty face looked almost annoyed as he moved forward, chains rattling again, until he was standing right at the base of the platform. The slave had his large, long-fingered hands clasped before him, a familiar pose for those unused to being on display, and yet apart from that, he could be standing anywhere, before anyone. 

"He is a brilliant basket-maker," the ambassador said proudly. "I have many examples of his fine work, and before we burned his village, he was the pride of it." 

_Baskets?_ the Pharaoh thought. _Gods, what a waste of talent._

"Look at me, slave," he ordered, enjoying the surprise this caused around the throne room. 

Brown eyes raised easily to his, and he was struck instantly by the intelligence and warmth there. His own eyes wandered away from that calmly defiant gaze, and he saw clearly now the delicate rose-pink nipples, more interesting and inviting than those of the young slave girl he had sent to fetch the wine. His gaze went lower, enjoying the curve of his stomach, and the softness of the light hair which began below the navel. But then -- he frowned. 

"Remove that," he ordered, flicking his fingers at the offending material. 

The slave did not respond right away, and peripherally the Pharaoh noted that the ambassador looked tense. It served him well -- what business did he have bringing an untrained slave to the Pharaoh? He looked into those brown eyes again, expecting fear and seeing instead a sort of resignation combined with...something else. 

And then those long fingers were undoing the ties at his hip, and the cloth fell from his body to reveal more smooth, olive-colored skin and a long, thick cock framed in dark brown hair. The Pharaoh looked it over slowly, comparing it favorably to all the cocks he had seen before in his life. When he looked back to the slave's face, he saw now that the odd expression in his eyes was appraisal. 

"Do you like what you see?" he asked the slave with a satisfied smile. 

The slave shrugged. "You're very attractive, even beautiful, Pharaoh...and I was about to ask you the same question." 

The ambassador gasped, and one of the slaves currently cowering at the foot of the Pharaoh's lounge quivered, as though he wanted to leap up and strangle the slave for such impudence, but the Pharaoh only laughed, feeling quite intrigued, before he asked, "Have you bent over for a man yet?" 

A look of disdain passed over the slave's face. "I made my living as a basket-maker, not a whore, Pharaoh." 

The Pharaoh smiled and sighed with pleasure. "Oh, I'm not giving you away to anyone." He looked at the ambassador. "You have done well. I am pleased." 

The ambassador looked ready to melt with relief, bowed very low, and stayed there. 

"Come here," he told the slave now, simply tuning out the existence of the others in the cavernous chamber. There was nothing worth noticing now but this captive he would...not break, no. Just train a little. With the edges smoothed, he was a gift fit indeed for a god in this world. Perhaps that would be a good place to start. 

The slave frowned slightly, fumbling just a bit as he climbed the steps of the platform with his ankles shackled and chained. He made it eventually, however, and stood at the foot of the lounge patiently, again looking resigned to his fate. 

The Pharaoh snapped his fingers, and the slave who had quivered earlier stood. In a smooth motion that had intimidated many supplicants in these chambers, he drew his curved sword and, at the Pharaoh's nod, placed it at the slave's neck. The slave swallowed, but didn't cower, and pleasure washed through the ruler's body as he sat up on his lounge. 

"If you come before I give permission," he said, meaning it, "my first slave will slice your throat. Do you understand?" 

The slave looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded slightly. "Yes, Pharaoh." 

The Pharaoh smiled. Yes, he was perfect. Slowly, he reached over to that large cock and trailed a light touch over it. The flesh responded instantly, and he chuckled. 

"Yes, think of it, slave. The Pharaoh is going to pleasure you in front of his kingdom. What do you think of it?" 

The slave made a small noise, half-arousal and half-confusion, as the touches continued. The Pharaoh treated the cock before him as though it were his own, stroking it softly, looking for places that felt good -- guided now by the noises the slave was making, and the light shudders which ran though his long body. 

When the moment was right, he leaned forward and ran a tongue over the long, semi-hard shaft. The slave moaned now, and abruptly became quite hard indeed. Chuckling again, surprised at how soft that skin was against his tongue, he licked again and again, and though he knew he had done this hundreds of times, there was a strangely novel sensation about it all. 

"Do you like that?" he murmured. 

"Yes," the slave moaned. "So good, Pharaoh." 

"Of course it's good," he replied, almost laughing himself out of the whole thing. "I'm a god." 

Despite the blade at his throat, the slave chuckled as well, and a wash of desire ran through the Pharaoh. Without stopping to think about it, he opened his mouth wide and took that now leaking cock inside. It felt like having a mouth full of hot, wet velvet, and he sucked hard, breathing in the smell of cum and sweat. 

"Ohhhhh," the slave said, the noise traveling through his body and vibrating the cock between the Pharaoh's lips. "Pharaoh. Oh, I didn't know you would...so good...so _good_...who would have thought...oh, I love this. I _love_ this!" 

The Pharaoh loved it too, and he felt he could continue this forever. Dimly, he thought his jaw should be hurting by now, or that he should have more trouble breathing, but he ignored all that and concentrated only on making his lovely slave feel as good as he could, sucking him off in front of everyone. 

And then, ruthlessly, he let go, leaning back and staring up into his slave's face as the man groaned and shuddered, almost cutting himself on the sword, before he looked down imploringly. 

"Pharaoh?" 

"Have you bent over for a man yet?" 

The slave obviously thought as hard as he could in his present circumstances, the intelligence of those eyes sparkling fiercely. Then, urgently, he responded, "No. I've been saving myself for you, Pharaoh." 

"I could take you right now, little slave. Would you like that?" 

"Yes!" 

The Pharaoh chuckled. "Then you may come now in your Pharaoh's mouth." He moved forward even as he was speaking and slid his lips all the way down the long, thick, throbbing cock which spurted cum almost immediately down his throat. 

_Bree-brop!_

Oh, God. Strange Egyptian images flashed through his head and disappeared, but the erection straining against and leaking into the crotch of his uniform wouldn't be so obliging. 

_Bree-brop!_

"Computer, simulate the sound of the sonic shower." The computer complied. "Picard to Riker. You've caught me in the shower, Will. I'll be out in a minute." 

"No hurry, sir," Riker's voice assured him. "I haven't eaten. If you'd like, I could come back in twenty minutes." 

"Sounds good. Picard out." 

The captain ordered the computer to be quiet and assessed things as best he could. Then, shrugging, he undid his uniform and stroked himself to climax. There was no need for lubricant. 

The watcher simply took in the picture: Jean-Luc Picard sprawled out on his sofa, uniform undone and his cock sticking out, deep red and leaking, hand moving up and down, that disciplined body straining, that usually oh-so-controlled face displaying clearly all the desire and excitement his dream had given him. He really should take those photographs of him, or just immortalize him in bronze. The watcher chuckled silently. Perhaps he could leave the statue in the ready room, as a gift. 

Picard came with a shout, and realized he had a vague memory from the dream: caressing the breast of a young woman in white robes while she held a clay jug. But, somehow, he had the feeling she wasn't his dream lover. 

Shaking and sighing afterwards, he forced himself up and into the shower, and was sitting at his desk with padd in hand when Riker came in. He felt eager to make this the most twisted battle drill in the history of the ship. Something about getting it regularly, even with himself, he thought very privately, had really gotten him in the mood for shaking up his crew a bit. 

Riker responded to Picard's mood with enthusiasm. 

Riker responded to Picard's mood with enthusiasm, and the session went well. When Riker went off to brief the "Romulans," Picard felt good enough about the evening to indulge himself in some dessert. Normally he didn't bother with sweets all that much, but tonight the idea of something sweet appealed. He chose strawberry shortcake, something Will had introduced him to on Picard's first birthday after taking command of the Enterprise. For some reason, probably his incredibly good mood, tonight's shortcake tasted like something made fresh. Replicators didn't always do the best job when it came to fruit, but the berries were perfect and the whipped cream was just the way he liked it, not too sweet and with just enough vanilla. As he'd found himself wishing at various times over the last few days, he wished his dream lover were real; it would be nice to eat dessert with her and then go to bed and make love and then fall asleep with a warm loving body next to him. 

"All of this? For me?" Jean-Luc's lover laughed and shook his dark head. "What is it with the French and food?" 

"Don't try to stereotype me; for all you know, I'd have liked good food if I'd been born Finnish," Picard said. "And anyway, this is nothing. Just a intimate little supper for two." 

"Well, it is intimate; I like the candlelight. But little?" 

"Well, if you don't _want_ your soufflé, you don't have to eat it." 

"Jean-Luc you can have this soufflé if you can pry it from my cold, dead fingers. It smells heavenly." 

Picard chuckled and they started in on the meal. Picard did everything he could to make the whole meal as sensual as he could. None of the food was too heavy, and he kept leaning across the small table to feed his companion bites of this or that. Soon, his lover was returning the favor, and they quickly abandoned their forks in order to feed each other with their fingers. By the time the meal was over, Picard was rather aroused, and he knew that his companion was as well. 

"No dessert?" the other man asked. 

"Of course there's dessert," Jean-Luc replied, laughing. "I know _all_ about your sweet-tooth." He rose to his feet and reached for the other's hand. "In here." 

"In the bedroom? _This_ ought to be interesting." 

His lover's surprised gasp made the logistical effort Picard had put into dessert worth every second. "What have we here?" that sensuous voice asked. 

"Just a few little things," Picard replied. "Sponge cake, strawberries, whipped cream, Grand Marnier, chocolate fondue...nothing much." He walked up to his lover and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Of course, to truly enjoy a dessert like this, both parties should be naked." 

He was deliberately slow at his self-appointed task, pausing often to touch and kiss the exposed skin. By the time he tugged the black silk briefs off the other man, he was looking at the ample evidence of his lover's arousal. Although he wanted to drop to his knees, take that lovely cock in his mouth, and drive its owner crazy, Jean-Luc controlled himself and only bent to kiss the head ever-so-slightly. He backed off then and stripped off his own clothes with careless haste, aware that he was being watched by a pair of hungry dark brown eyes. Moving carefully so as not to disturb the contents of the two bed trays, he sat down on the bed and patted it. 

"Jean-Luc, you are amazing. This is...perfect." 

"Anywhere you are is perfect," Picard replied seriously. He'd always shied away from extravagant statements like that, but this relationship was like none he'd ever had. When he said things like that to this person, he meant every word of them. "Now, come over here and tell me what you want to start with. There's only one rule." 

"And what is that?" 

"Neither of us can feed ourselves." 

And so they didn't. At first they were fairly sedate, contenting themselves with lightly nibbling or licking each other's fingers clean. Then Jean-Luc's lover pushed him back against the pile of pillows and picked the bowl of Grand Marnier and a piece of sponge cake. Picard opened his mouth in anticipation, but his lover shook his head as he dipped the sponge cake into the bowl. He then began to use the cake to sponge the liqueur onto Jean-Luc's skin. He was patient and thorough about it, and soon Jean-Luc's chest was covered with the liqueur (and sponge cake crumbs), and the sweet smell of oranges began to fill the room. 

Then that dark head bent, and his lover's talented tongue began to lick at Jean-Luc's skin, talking in-between licks. "Mmm...you taste...so good with...this stuff..." 

Jean-Luc was quickly moaning in pleasure, and when that tongue reached his nipples, his moans grew louder and more frequent. He couldn't believe the contrast between the coolness of the drying liqueur and the heat of his lover's tongue, and he was soon lost in the heady pleasure of having this much attention paid to him. It went on and on, and he was surprised to discover that he was hovering on the edge of an orgasm, even though no attention had yet been paid to his aching erection. "Please," he moaned. 

"The best part of dessert," that silky voice murmured. 

The dark head bent lower and suddenly there was a warm mouth enveloping his cock. Jean-Luc cried out and...woke up. 

He brought himself off almost automatically, wondering, as the dream faded, why he was thinking that he should smell oranges. A sleepy glance at the clock told him that he had three hours of sleep left and he rolled over, hoping to return to the same dream. It felt unfinished, as if there were something he'd intended to do but hadn't yet. 

"Now that you've had _your_ dessert," he said, as his breathing returned to normal, "it's time for me to have _mine._ " 

"Like _I'm_ going to stop you?" 

Jean-Luc chuckled and touched a few controls on the small fondue pot. He then ignored it for a while and picked up the bowl of whipped cream. Scooping out a generous handful, he began to cover his lover's chest. After another handful had been smoothed on to those firm muscles, he picked up the bowl of berries and began dragging them through the whipped cream. He was slow and deliberate about it, pausing several times to lick cream off a strawberry before eating it. At one point, he dragged a finger through the cream, lightly teasing an erect nipple, before holding it to the sensual mouth that had so recently been wrapped around his cock. 

"Mmmm," his lover said after thoroughly cleaning Jean-Luc's finger of whipped cream. "Nice, although I think _you_ taste better." 

"Flatterer," Jean-Luc chuckled as he bent his head to lick the last of the whipped cream off that firm chest. He nipped lightly at the now exposed nipples, but didn't linger there long. Smiling at the thought of his next move, he reached for the fondue pot. 

"Don't you dare!" 

"Relax, I turned it down; it'll be warm, not hot." 

"Oh, well then...carry on." 

Picard, after testing the chocolate with a finger, tipped the pot slightly and watched as a thick stream of dark chocolate fondue fell, almost in slow motion, onto his lover's trembling erection. 

"Ohhh...that's good..." 

"I'm glad you like it," Picard said, putting the pot aside. "It's going to get better." 

"You hungry for chocolate, Jean-Luc?" 

"Not exactly." Without bother to explain his words, Picard reached down and began to stroke that chocolate-covered cock. He did it slowly, enjoying the gasps and groans, as well as the way his lover's hips undulated against the bed. Finally, just as that mouth opened to beg, he increased the speed and pressure of his hand and watched as his lover came, thrashing and crying out Jean-Luc's name. 

"Now I'm hungry," Picard said and bent down to clean off the chocolate and the semen that surrounded the softening cock. 

"Ohhhhh..." 

It didn't surprise Jean-Luc when that cock began to twitch again, and as soon as it was once more hard, he sat up and reached for the chocolate again. His lover groaned as more warm chocolate was poured on him and then opened his eyes in surprise as Jean-Luc moved until he was lying on top of that chocolate-covered form. He eagerly thrust against Jean-Luc when Picard's intent became clear, and soon both of them, sticky and slippery and totally messy, were trembling on the edge of orgasm. 

_Beep, beep, beep, beep..._

"Off!" 

Once more, Picard knew a vague feeling of disappointment as he woke up alone. He was also thinking about chocolate for some reason, and he had a quick moment of concern. _Surely I'm not dreaming of Deanna?_ He relaxed as the thought did nothing to enhance his arousal. In fact, thinking about Deanna helped make the erection go away. She had to know what was going on with him these days, and yet she'd been incredibly discreet, something for which he was overwhelmingly grateful. If he _had_ been dreaming of her, he doubted that she'd be as relaxed about the whole thing as she was. 

Who then? Who was this lover of his? It wasn't Beverly, although he had come away from the dreams with the feeling that his lover had long fingers and capable hinds similar to those of his friend. But he'd also come away with the feeling that she had dark hair, far darker than Beverly's had ever been, and dark eyes as well. For a time he'd thought it was Kamala, but he was beginning to think that he was making this person up out of bits and pieces of the women he'd known throughout his life. He sighed, it was sad in a way that the only perfect lover for him was one he had to create. 

Then he thought of his impossibly good mood and everything else that was going right in his life, and decided that, even if she weren't real, his dream lover was making his life better. For now, that had to be enough. After all, it was more than he'd had mere weeks ago. And, anyway, he couldn't think about it now; he had to be on the bridge in order to die at the appointed time. 

"Captain," Data asked as Picard checked up on the latest scans of the anomaly. "I am surprised that Ambassador Arlic is not present. Is he aware that Escher Six is about to make its appearance?" 

"The ambassador..." As Picard launched into his prepared speech about the ambassador's absence, he watched Lt. Simon Li at tactical. Li had joined the crew as chief tactical officer after the Enterprise's trip to the 21st century, and was about as far from Worf as anyone could imagine. There were still times, even after close to a year of having him as part of his command staff, that Picard still felt odd looking up and seeing him at his station. The only thing he had in common with Worf was his height, but Li was reed slim where the Klingon was broad, and soft-spoken where he was gruff. Having sparred with Li on more than one occasion, Picard knew that there was a lot of strength underneath the tac officer's slimness, and time had proven that he was as resourceful as anyone Picard could hope to have in the position. 

Now Li was frowning as Lt. Andrews came onto the bridge. Picard turned back to Data, hiding his smile. Andrews was the Beta watch tac officer and right now, she was also a Romulan agent. Carrying a padd in her hand, she walked toward the tac station. Picard glanced at Riker, who touched a control on his monitor, and then nodded. The entire ship, and all her defensive systems had been put on "drill" mode. Data, sensing that something odd was going on, looked at Picard curiously, while Andrews reached Li's station, and spoke to him quietly. 

"Cap..." Li tried to yell, only to fall as Andrews landed a swift left hook to his chin. 

"What the devil?" Picard snapped in mock indignation, turning toward tactical. There was a flash of light and the odd vibration of his comm badge that informed him that he was "dead," and so he fell heavily to the deck, praying that no one would step on him this time. He heard Riker yell, and heard then another heavy thud. And then chaos descended onto his bridge. 

After a lot of shouting and shooting, he heard Andrews' voice. "Andrews to Commander Tomalak; I have secured the bridge." 

"We will begin boarding as soon as you can get the shields down," a voice replied. 

"Aye sir." 

Footsteps came over to where Picard lay on the floor, and a booted foot kicked his. "Take his body to the Observation lounge. Riker's too. I'm sure Tomalak will want to be certain that they're dead." 

"Yes, Sub Commander," a voice replied, and two burly security ensigns with green armbands hoisted Picard up and carried him to the observation lounge. 

"Sorry, Captain," Ensign di Gregario said, as he helped Picard to stand. "Hope the ride wasn't too rough." 

"I'm sure no Starfleet corpse has ever had better treatment from a Romulan agent," Picard replied, winking at the blushing young man. "Go get Commander Riker." 

"Aye sir!" 

"What the hell did you say to di Gregario?" Riker asked, as they were left alone in the observation lounge. "He was beet red." 

Picard, who had brought up the ship's internal tactical schematic, shrugged. "Something about being a Starfleet corpse and being carried by a Romulan agent. I may have winked at him. This is fun, Will!" 

"Don't tease the poor kid too much; he's got a bit of a crush going." As Riker spoke, he came over and started staring at the screen intently. 

Picard felt a blush of his own stealing over his face and head. Normally, he would have noticed, but di Gregario was a beta watch officer and a new addition to the Security staff. Riker, who often commanded the beta watch, tended to exhibit a certain amount of glee when delivering this sort of news. "You're imagining things, Number One," Picard said dryly. "Anyway, we have a ship to take over. Or, at least, to _try_ to take over." 

In drill mode, there was a second set of surveillance systems available to whomever was directing the drill. Picard and Riker used those eyes and their communicators to direct Andrews and her "Romulans" in their effort to commandeer the Enterprise. It was hard going; Li had not been killed and had managed to sound an alarm while Andrews was dealing with the captain and the first officer. Now the Gamma watch security team and LaForge were on the battle bridge, trying to run the ship from there. 

"Tsk tsk, Number One," Picard said as they watched Data break free of some of the "Romulans." "It would seem that Lt. Andrews miscalculated on the number of guards to use for that particular prisoner." 

Riker smiled evilly. "Time to bring up the Romulan ships?" 

"One, I think. Let's give Geordi and Lt. T'Vil something external to think about." 

"One Romulan ship coming up. Would you like soup or salad with that, sir?" Riker grinned at Picard. "You were right. This _is_ fun!" 

The battle for the USS Enterprise raged on, and, as always, the battle drill tore at Picard's immediate loyalties. He wanted to win, but he also wanted his crew to win. He found himself wishing for hardly the first time that there were some way to have it all end in some sort of tie. 

He shook himself away from that. The drill was fun, but it was also serious business. The Romulans had done more than a few alarming things lately, like the attack on the Prometheus (he'd always known Kathryn Janeway would never just disappear), and they needed to be ready for anything. 

"Number One," he said in a tone that made a little bit more excitement pump in Riker's blood, "I think the Romulans would be anxious to test the quantum torpedoes at this point, don't you?" 

"Yes, Sub Commander Picard." 

Picard laughed and called up the simulation they had made of the new colony on a supposed class-M planet only three light years away. Once he introduced it into the sensors and gave his orders, the activity level increased by a factor of ten. Soon after, a mysterious "explosion" in engineering necessitated a warp core shut-down, and not long after that, the Starfleet side was able to call up reinforcements. Eventually, the ship was saved and the Romulans taken to the brig. 

Going on the walk, as he always did, with Riker and some other Romulans at his side, he couldn't help smiling at the very badly translated Nausican fighting song which started somewhere around section 23. By the time they actually reached the brig, just about everyone had joined in: 

_The anger of our souls is slowly growing. The blood of our enemies will be flowing. Victory will come. Bloodlust has begun, And hell's rage is all they will be knowing._

He stopped short of the actual cell, turning to nod at the brig officer on watch and then congratulating Data and his team for saving the ship. 

"Do you not wish to join the crew for a chorus, sir?" Data asked. 

"Not today." 

The had a brief post-mortem, but the day had been long and Picard was more than pleased with the initial results. Tomorrow they could comb over every detail. 

He did spend some time on the bridge looking at Escher Six with Ambassador Arlic. Data replayed the actual formation of the anomaly, and he watched as the stars of the "negative universe" grew even blacker, stretching out until they twisted and connected with each other, connecting across a now formidable distance. Six was again bigger than the anomaly before it, but that didn't stop the pattern from being quite familiar. 

The "lace" was back. 

"The pattern is exactly the same as Escher One, sir," Data told him, leaving no room for debate over that exactness, "although its width and depth have doubled." 

"It's not possible," Arlic murmured. "And yet it exists." 

"How about its height, Data?" 

"That remains unchanged, sir." 

"It's almost two-dimensional," Picard mused. "Yet it exists in at least fourteen dimensions. How many other dimensions is it expanding into?" 

"Impossible to say without further analysis, sir." 

Picard nodded. So much still to learn, but this day was over and he was increasingly feeling the desire for rest and for what came with that rest these days. 

The day had gone so well, he thought as he rode the turbo-lift to his deck, that he was getting a little anxious. He wasn't a superstitious man, but there was something unsettling about his recent run of luck, something that couldn't last. He was wary of getting used to too much fun, too easy a road. 

And yet, privately he knew he had believed before this that he was due for a little good fortune. The loss of his family and his ship had hit him very hard, and dealing with the Borg had been difficult in many ways. And there had been that dreadful year off while the new ship was being made ready. Yes, he'd been busy overseeing the last of her construction, and he'd spent some time at the academy, but it wasn't what he wanted to be doing. It wasn't being out _here._

But he'd been back in space two years now, and enjoying as much as he could this run of luck. 

_Don't talk yourself out of happiness,_ he chided, almost hearing Troi in his head. 

A light supper, a quick shower, and then he was sliding in between his sheets with hopeful expectations. Unlike most nights lately, though, he had a little trouble sleeping at first. The day had been very full. 

He was standing with them, their song whispering through his mind, one drone among a several thousand, united in their purpose. Black spots covered his pale, frozen skin, and he was instructed to say... 

To say what? 

"My love," a warm voice soothed as hands covered his shoulders. He trembled at the breath on his neck, and felt lips come down gently on the upper part of his left arm. He turned to look, and when the dark-haired head moved, he saw the black spot growing smaller as the skin beneath it warmed. The head moved, another kiss, and then another mark melted away. Picard shivered harder, wanting to be free of all of them right now. 

"Such a crime to spoil so much beauty," the voice of his lover continued between more kisses all the way down his arm. "Like someone filled the Ice Halls of Cathinn with old dung." More kisses, all the way over the back of his hand, then around to his palm and each fingertip. "Or took a pickax to the Firewall Sculptures of Hajek-IV." His lover was kneeling beside him now, touching him gently with his hands to get the kisses where he wanted them. The kisses ended on his left arm now, and began on his right hand. "Or incinerated the Hanging Gardens of Aldea." 

Jean-Luc wanted to respond, to say how much greatly he felt the slow burning of those kisses, but he couldn't do anything but tremble and feel the kisses moving up his arm. They reached his shoulder, leaving both his arms unblemished and warm. His chest was screaming for that same warmth, and quickly his lover obliged. He realized he could move his arms now, and caught his lover close, pausing the kisses while he simply squeezed into this beloved rescuer his gratitude and slowly rising joy. 

"I love you, Jean-Luc." 

A tear fell, small and no warmer than the icy cheek down which it glided, and then tear was kissed away, and more kissing followed, bringing blessed warmth to his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his ears, the smooth expanse of his head, the back of his neck, and then, finally, his lips. The heat rushed through him now, out to the skin of his arms and chest and down into the pit of his stomach. 

"I love you," Jean-Luc said into that mouth. 

"Yes," his lover whispered, pulling back gently and then moving around quickly to kiss his back. Picard cried out softly as those lips drove away the cold blackness there as well, and his lover chuckled very quietly. "Did you think I would leave the job half-finished?" 

Down the kisses went, to his hips, his buttocks, the backs of his legs, around his feet, and now up his shins, on his knees, along his thighs, over his hips, around his stomach, and then, with another chuckle, that mouth completely enveloped his penis, which grew hard inside that warmth, caressed so perfectly by his skilled tongue. 

And then Picard was simply a man, standing somewhere quiet and sane. He rocked just slightly on his bare feet, unblemished, naked, and aroused, while his lover knelt before him and made him feel good. 

"Love you...so...much...love that you...touch me...that you kiss me...that you're sucking me off when...you could...hurt me..." 

As though goaded by the suggestion of such a thing, his lover sucked harder and an onslaught of pleasure was threatening to conquer him. 

"There is no fear!" he shouted suddenly. "Only you...loving me!" 

A warm finger caressed his cleft, lightly brushing his opening, and with a roar he came, jerking into that mouth without control. 

Dimly, the captain knew he had half-awoken from a dream filled with pleasure and heat. With a soft grunt he simply rolled away from the wet spot in his bed and sank back into the comforting darkness of sleep. 

There was dust everywhere, and Jean-Luc had to work to keep from sneezing as he pulled several old drop cloths aside. "What a mess," he sighed. 

"Jean-Luc? You up there?" The voice echoed up the stairs that led from the attic down to the rest of the house. 

"I was sure you weren't going to make it," Picard said, delighted, as a dark head of hair became visible at the top of the stairs. "I figured something would come up." 

"You wound me, Jean-Luc. You thought I'd forget my promise to help you go through all this crap?" He held up a cooler. "I even brought beer." 

"I never look a gift beer in the mouth," Jean-Luc said, grinning. "I'm flattered that you showed up. Greater love hath no man that he will show up to help a friend go through an attic." 

The other man shot him a glance he couldn't understand and then smiled easily. "Hey, it's me; can you imagine me giving up a chance to look at antiques? Where do we start?" He looked eager and Picard thought of all the swapmeets they'd been to and how his friend couldn't drive past a yard sale without stopping. They'd even been late for another old college friend's wedding once because of a particularly interesting estate sale. Picard still had the cut glass decanter he'd picked up for two dollars that time. 

"At the beginning and..." 

"...go on 'til we reach the end and stop. Of course, I always have trouble with the stopping part." 

Chuckling, they set to work. A distant relative had died and left Jean-Luc the old Victorian house in Pacific Heights, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do with it. As foolish as it was, he rather liked the idea of fixing up the 120-year-old beauty. If only he had someone with whom to share the work, the fun, and the house, he'd be certain that fixing it up was a good idea. 

"Wow!" his friend exclaimed some time later. 

Picard turned to see him looking at a box that was packed with tissue. "Did your great-aunt have any idea of what she had up here?" 

"Probably not. What did you...?" His question was answered as the other man held up a black box. 

"Russian lacquerware, Jean-Luc, the really good stuff." He looked at the box again, as Picard moved over to join him. "This one's a picture from the fairy tale of the Firebird." 

"My great-uncle Gerard, Emilie's brother, was a diplomat. She probably ended up with all his things after he died." 

They dug curiously through the box, uncovering several more lacquer boxes. And then Jean-Luc, who had been wrapping the boxes back up, heard a gasp from behind him. He whirled on his haunches, and saw the other man looking at something flat with an expression of awe on his face. 

"17th Century, at least," he murmured, and Jean-Luc saw the dull gleam of silver as those long hands turned the object over. "St. Basil, St. Catherine, and St. Nicholas... _Look_ at it, Jean-Luc." 

It was an icon, the bodies of the saints covered in tarnished hammered silver with only their faces showing. While Picard wasn't as knowledgeable about art as his old friend was, he knew beauty when he saw it and this piece was beautiful. 

"What a pity it's been locked up here for so long," he said, almost wistfully. "Just like this house..." 

"Waiting for us to discover it," that familiar voice murmured. 

"When I was a boy, I used to think that Aunt Emilie had treasure chests locked up here. I guess I was right." 

They uncovered three more icons, one of them a startlingly beautiful Madonna that they both stared at in silence for a long time. 

"I might have been more religious," Jean-Luc's friend said, "if I'd grown up with this kind of art around me." 

"I can see you like that," Jean-Luc said. "In a Russian monastery, painting one of these." 

"Ha! My eye for beauty is far better than my artistic talent." 

Jean-Luc smiled and reached for the icon, intending to wrap it up again. "I'll want to bring this box downstairs," he began, shifting to make a grab for more tissue paper. Later, he assumed that if it hadn't been for the four beers he'd drunk, nothing would have happened. As it was, he lost his balance and ended up half-sprawled across his friend. His oldest, closest friend, the roommate he'd lived with all through college, the one person he'd never lost touch with, the friend who was always there for him...As Jean-Luc laughed and tried to sit up again, he felt those strong arms close around him for just a moment, as, for one brief second, a cheek rested against his head, and a pair of lips touched his temple. 

And then the other man was pulling away, his face flushed and a look of distress contorting those expressive features. For some reason that look tore at Jean-Luc's heart, and the roar of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart increased as he sat up. 

"Jean...I'm sorry...I never meant...I didn't want to...I'll just...you don't have to..." 

"How long have you known?" Picard asked quietly, pleased to note that his voice neither shook, nor sounded angry. The question wasn't all that important, but he wanted to stop that painful litany of broken sentences. 

"Since I was twelve," was the flat reply. "Unless you're asking about my feelings for you, which I figured out a week into our freshman year." He looked down at his hands. "It's all right, Johnny." The old nickname made Picard's vision blur. "I'll go now. You don't have to try to forgive me." The leaden, weary tone made the tears spill gently onto Jean-Luc's cheeks. 

Picard watched through the haze before his eyes as his friend paused in getting to his feet to put the icon carefully into its box. Jean-Luc felt frozen, unable to believe that the other man was really going to walk away. Away from this moment, this house, and Jean-Luc's life... 

"Wait!" he said. And then: "Please?" 

At first he was sure he hadn't been heard, and then that tall form paused right in front of the stairs. "Please, don't go; don't leave me alone," Jean-Luc said, meaning it as he'd never meant anything in his life. 

It was only when his friend turned back that Jean-Luc knew his voice had conveyed everything he wanted it to. As Picard scrambled to his feet and stepped around boxes, remembering suddenly that he'd always loved and envied the grace with which his friend did everything, he saw those features, more familiar to him than even his own, begin to glow with a look of wonder. 

"You...you're not..." 

Jean-Luc did the only thing he could think of doing to forestall another long string of confused words; he stood right in front of the taller man, leaned up and kissed him. It was supposed to be a gentle brush of his lips, but he hadn't counted on those large hands closing around his arms and pulling him against that broad chest. He hadn't counted on hearing that moan deep in the other's throat, and the skillful way those full lips twisted against his own. He opened his mouth without a second thought, and a moan of his own built up as a warm, soft tongue slipped between his lips and brushed against his own tongue. 

Before Jean-Luc could do more that begin to return the kiss, the other man's arms wrapped around him and pulled him even closer, while a denim-covered bulge rubbed against him. It was only then that Jean-Luc realized that he was hard, painfully, frustratingly, hard. He ground his hips against the other man, who pulled away from Jean-Luc's mouth. 

"I'm sorry...it's just that I've thought about us being like this for _so_ long. I'm coming on too strong, it's just that...Oh God, Jean-Luc," he moaned as Picard's arms slid around his waist. "I used to jerk off while I watched you sleep. You're so beautiful and you're so unconscious of how you affect other people." He paused, a blush stealing across his face. "I used to draw pictures of you...hell, I still draw pictures of you." 

"Thirty years," Jean-Luc murmured. 

"Thirty-two, and seven months," the other interrupted. 

"We've been standing here for maybe one minute and I already want you so badly that I can't stand it. How could I be so blind and leave you alone for thirty-two years?" 

"And seven months." That mouth was back, this time roaming over Jean-Luc's neck. "Sometimes it's not so bad," he paused again to do something incredible to the hollow of Jean-Luc's throat. "Sometimes I've gone for a few hours without thinking of you." 

"Ohhh..." 

"I compare every man I meet with you." Another pause while that tongue traced Jean-Luc's ear. 

"Ahhhh..." 

"Every lover I have fails to live up to you..." 

Jean-Luc was stunned by the furious wave of jealousy that washed over him. He growled deep in his throat and reached up to knot his fingers in that dark hair. "No more lovers," he commanded and pulled the other man's face down until their lips met. This time he initiated the kiss, and he was amazed at how naturally his hands slid down to cup the other's ass and pull him close. 

"No more girlfriends, then." 

"God, no," Jean-Luc replied. "Ohhh...I can't stand it...please..." 

"Tell me what...you want," came the other's panting reply. "Anything..." 

"Anything...everything...just touch me..." 

The words had hardly left his mouth before his back was flat against a wall. His belt was undone by hands that were obviously accustomed to that activity and then a quick tug on his jeans unbuttoned his fly. He heard a soft gasp, almost a verbal shiver, as one of those hands slid down inside his briefs to glide over his leaking cock. 

And then his ears heard nothing but his own moaning, interspersed with little breathless pleas for more of this. He locked his knees as best as he could, and gave himself over to the touch of that hand. He knew those hands so well; he'd seen them gripping a tennis racket with nervous tension during a match, cradling a snifter of brandy on any number of nights spent talking about anything and everything, clinging to a hawser on a windy day when they shouldn't have been out on the Bay, soaping down those strong arms in a gym shower room...Jean-Luc cried out and his hips bucked as he came into that hand. 

_Beep, beep, beep, beep..._

"Off!" Picard groaned, trying so hard to hang on to the vibration in his body. He felt an overwhelming love fade from his consciousness -- so good and so hot and so _real._ He hated to lose it, hated to awaken to an empty and semen-stained bed. 

"Please," he groaned aloud, thinking of the woman he loved in his dreams. "If you are real in any way, show yourself." 

But nothing responded, of course, and he felt rather foolish as he rose from the bed, stripped the sheets, and then headed to the shower. All these years of meeting aliens had given him an inflated sense of the significance of things. Or perhaps it was simply that he wanted her to be real so badly he could believe she was. It was a dangerous desire, making him vulnerable to undue influences. 

And yet...that anomaly. It had enthralled him and his ship for days. Were the dreams some sort of attempt to communicate? But then why weren't any other of the crew affected? 

Inside the sonic shower -- he hadn't taken a water shower since that last one had proven so distracting -- he made up his mind. Whatever joy he was feeling in trying to remember these dreams on his own, it was time he asked Troi for some guidance. 

And as if that decision had been weighing heavily on him, the moment he made it the happiness and release he'd found in the dream washed over him much more efficiently than the sonic waves of the shower. _Merde, but I've never felt better in my life than I have in the past few days. Surely, if there is some intelligence behind these dreams, she would_ want _me to remember her?_

Feeling uncharacteristically torn, he put himself into his uniform, tugging it firmly into place and being glad once again that the new design was so much more comfortable than the last version. He had really gotten tired of tugging his jacket down every five minutes. The ride in the turbo-lift brought him to a bridge just beginning to hum with activity. Escher Seven was due to appear in five hours, and they had -- he quickly learned -- been picking up some strange low theta-band emissions that heralded something different in the works. 

Picard studied the readouts for many minutes, then squared his shoulders and made eye contact with Troi. She nodded and stood, not being too eager nor pressing, just joining him on his walk into the ready room. 

"The dreams, Captain?" she asked as he had settled into place with a cup of tea in his hand. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and tried not to show how deeply she felt his reaction to the simple question. Not since Neela Darren had she sensed many of those feelings, and some were new to her all together. 

"Counselor," he began, treating a potentially embarrassing topic with complete gravity, "never in my life have I experienced dreams with the intensity and consistency of those I've had these past few days. Their connection to the anomaly seems too overtly plausible to ignore. If someone, some alien intelligence, perhaps, is trying to communicate with me...if this is how I'm interpreting some attempt at contact, then I need to know." 

Troi thought of a hundred questions. "Captain, before we begin to discuss methods for remembering dreams, I think you need to understand your own feelings better. After all, while I agree that the anomaly and your unusual dream experiences may both be signs of an intelligence at work, particularly since they've appeared together, we should first explore the possibility that you may be initiating these dreams yourself, that the message the dreams are sending you may be from your own unconscious." 

"Because that is the more likely explanation?" 

"It would be the more common explanation," Troi said with a smile. "On this ship, I'm not sure anything is ever more 'likely.'" 

He smiled back absently. 

"Are they just dreams about sex?" she asked. 

He almost winced. "No. They began...I think at first they were, but they're getting more emotionally involving. And I think...perhaps...they involve the same woman. That's what gave me the idea they might be from someone." 

"Is the woman familiar?" 

"Yes. No." Picard scowled at his tea. Troi wondered if the glass would break. "She has dark hair, and she's taller than I, her skin is smooth and warm, and her mouth is very...generous." 

"Anything else?" 

"No." 

"No emotions attached to her?" Picard shook his head. "No places or things attached to her?" Another shake. "What's something she's said to you?" 

Picard opened his mouth in surprise. Troi nodded, and he said quietly, "Something about not being religious...and we were looking at art." 

She was going to urge him a bit more, when he abruptly leaned across the desk, setting his tea down with a clang. "When I wake up, I feel as though I've been taken from some place completely real and then made to forget things that are incredibly important to me. This morning I felt an almost overwhelming sense of loss." 

_If it were anyone but you, Captain, I'd have heard about all this days ago._ "That is markedly inconsistent with the dreams you've had previous to these last few days," she said with some authority. 

"Then you agree there might be something to this?" 

"I do." She knew he was surprised by her assuredness, but she also knew that that "something" might still be completely interior. Captain Picard was as lonely as he was private. His unconscious might simply have had enough. 

"To begin, Captain, I usually tell people that if they think about wanting to remember their dreams right as they go to bed, they will find that in the morning they do retain more of the dreams than usual. However, I believe you may already have done this on your own." 

Picard nodded. 

"The next step is to try to think of something to dream about, an object, something very tangible and familiar. If you can put this object into your dream, then you can look at the object the next morning and hopefully 'see' it in your dream as well." 

"I see." 

It wasn't quite that simple, of course, and Troi spent another forty minutes with him discussing concentration techniques. She knew he had already learned a great deal about focusing his mind. It was simply a matter of using old skills in a new area. 

Long before Escher Seven was due to appear, however, Picard and Troi were back on the bridge. Ambassador Arlic had basically taken up permanent residence in Stellar Cartography, and was running a series of partaron scans in coordination with Data at Ops. They had a working theory that the anomaly was actually a series of self-regenerating anomalies that were somehow feeding off the energy the others produced in order to expand themselves. During a murmured conference at a bridge science station, the android had expressed admiration for Arlic's insight, and Riker informed them both that the ambassador had solicited his government both for an extension of his assignment to the ship and for the involvement of the Prytt version of the "free press." Picard had no doubt he was hoping to catch the attention of Dr. Leral. 

Picard remained at the science station when Escher Six began the tell-tale minute implosion that signaled the beginning of its demise, and so he found himself next to Lieutenant Li. 

"We're still seeing no effect by the anomaly on our deflectors, Captain," the security chief murmured. 

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said back quietly, feeling somewhat sorry for the young man's inability to appreciate what was happening. 

But then something happened that reminded Picard of the danger of making snap judgments. 

"I've been thinking, sir. Our analyses may be a bit too...lateral." 

"Meaning?" 

"I was just thinking, sir, that since this anomaly looks like a work of art, it may be one. It may be a construction from some advanced and perhaps now extinct civilization, intended for simple aesthetic enjoyment." 

Picard smiled with approval at the tall man, noting something familiar in the steady gaze of his brown eyes. "An astute hypothesis, Mr. Li. Any ideas how we might follow up on it?" 

"Captain!" Data signaled from Ops, and the two men turned eagerly to the viewscreen. 

The black lace didn't drift apart, it exploded. Billions of fragments scattered in every direction, creating a frenzy reminiscent of an angry bee hive. And as it each fragment turned, it sparkled its way through an impossible variation of color. It was a kaleidoscope on warp speed, a swarm of pure color and motion. And yet some pattern was suggested to the mind, some semblance of inconceivable order. 

"The particles are keeping within the distance which would be defined by a more coherent version of the anomaly," Data reported, his flat tone letting everyone know he had turned off his emotion chip in order to be so efficient. Picard moved easily and quietly from the science station to right behind Data's shoulder, and said very quietly: 

"I don't think efficiency should interfere with appreciation of the moment, Mr. Data." 

"Thank you, sir," the second officer responded at the same volume, and, with a very small jerk of his head, Data was feeling again. 

Several minutes passed with no further movement on the bridge, and then, slowly, the anomaly was simply incredibly beautiful rather than enthralling, and they began a new set of scans and projections. Since this anomaly was not only bigger than the others, but more complex by over a factor of ten, just establishing the parameters for the tests they wanted to run took several hours. By the time Picard thought to eat lunch, it was dinner time, and by the time he actually left the bridge, he was a little unsteady from fatigue. 

He yawned in the middle of requesting vichyssoise and wound up with a plate of cevichi. He was going to try again, when the thought of the lime juice-cooked fish and refreshing vegetables made his mouth water. He ate quickly, struck again by how good hunger made food taste, and followed the meal with a little of his personal supply of Saurian Brandy. He thought briefly of a water shower, then simply tumbled naked into bed. 

He already had his "object" picked out, and in his exhaustion he longed for the feel of his dream lover beside him. 

"Excuse me," he heard the woman snap to the man standing on her purse strap. The bus turned the corner, and everyone leaned a bit to the left. 

Picard sighed. Another day, another trip home to an irritable heater that burned half the rooms and left the others icy. Another dinner of pasta and sauce from one of seven jars. Another _CBS Mystery Movie._ Perhaps one of the children would call. 

He thought of the box in the closet with his wife's things. It had been easy to throw away the wigs and the obscenities of her medical care. It was the things she had used before, when her hair, like cornsilk, fell over her shoulders as she brushed it -- 

He jerked his thoughts away from the memories. Time had faded them now, like records with worn grooves. The static of living filled in the skips and broken places. 

He became aware that someone was looking at him. Frowning slightly, he looked to his right and encountered a pair of dark brown eyes. 

"The ride home only gets longer when you think such sad thoughts," a warm voice said softly, reaching him with surprising ease over the noises of the engine and traffic. 

"It's always the same," Picard responded without thinking. Yet even as he asked himself why he was talking to a stranger, those dark eyes changed, pooling with empathy, and he felt an inexpressible feeling of relief and connection. 

"It doesn't have to be." The bus turned again and suddenly the stranger's strong form was pressed against him. He felt warmth, and something _alive_ there, something he'd been without for too long. 

Confused, he let his eyes drop and turned slightly away. The stranger didn't respond, but when the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, the crush became almost unbearable...except that his back was now pressed against the stranger's front. It was hot in the bus, and yet the warmth was again so welcoming and welcome. Breath was tickling his neck, and with incredulity he realized a hand was lightly touching his hip. As he stood there, stunned and yet somehow not enraged, not even annoyed, the hand slowly moved down and back until it cupped his backside and very, very slowly caressed him. 

Oh, God. He could. He could do something about this. He could have more of it. He _wanted_ more of it. For blocks and blocks the bus continued on, and he became aware of himself as a man who would stand and let a stranger fondle him in a crowd. 

"Don't be ashamed," that voice said in his ear. "We've just figured things out quickly, that's all." 

"I...I don't..." 

"Shhh. This is my stop. Let's get something to drink and talk about it." 

Picard couldn't quite remember agreeing, but he was quickly moving with the stranger off the bus and onto the sidewalk. Briskly, the man walked towards a large brownstone, smoothly drawing out his keys as he climbed the stairs to the front door. 

And then they were inside. As simply as that. 

Picard followed the man into the front room and couldn't help looking around in pleasure. There were all manner of artifacts there, including a Grecian urn, a Monet that looked genuine, and a Kurlan Naiskos highlighted by a gentle ceiling spot. 

The man went to a side table and poured two glasses of what smelled like scotch. He turned, and Picard saw him completely for the first time. Tall and strong and somehow incredibly arrogant. His cock stirred and he almost gasped. It had been so long...and now...what was this? 

"I think I should explain," came out in a rush from his mouth. "I'm not...I don't...not with men..." 

"Does it really matter?" the man asked, setting down the drinks suddenly and walking forward with empty hands and a laden expression. "If we care about each other, does it really make so much difference to you?" 

"I don't..." He thought of escape. He thought of pasta and sauce from a jar. He thought of being held by someone who meant it. "I don't know." 

The man smiled, and there was such warmth and delight there Picard felt a little dizzy. 

Those hands reached for him now, pulling him forward. But instead of letting himself be kissed, somehow he was kissing this stranger from the bus, kissing him as though the universe depended on giving him passion and pleasure. His generous mouth was warm and soft, not a thing like kissing a woman's mouth, and yet nothing like what he might have thought kissing a man was like if he had ever thought about it before. 

Then the man moaned slightly, deep in his throat, and Jean-Luc felt heady with power. He remembered how things worked, after all. He could show this bold seducer something more than hesitant desire -- trembling like a child and fighting something he wanted desperately. No. He would _take_ what was offered and count himself lucky. 

With a growl, he simply dragged the man -- who did not resist -- to the soft carpet and began getting his clothes off as quickly as possible. Oh! that warm skin, so smooth to his fingers! The man was groaning loudly now, moving with him, getting his own clothes off until they were naked and pressed together. 

Laughing, feeling wonderful, Picard enclosed the man's left nipple in his lips and sucked gently, running a light touch over the erection he found just as he wanted it -- so incredibly soft to the touch and hard in his grasp. He began to stroke, thinking that he would first get the stranger to come, then turn him over, spread his legs, and -- carefully -- fuck him senseless. Oh, but that would feel so _good._

"Oh, oh...Jean-Luc," the man said into his mouth. "I want...oh...I can't...so wonderful to be here with you...Oh, I'm coming..." 

Picard laughed. 

And woke up, his hand around his own cock. 

On his nightstand squatted the Kurlan Naiskos with which his old professor had once presented him, a gift to remind him of the voices inside. But Picard didn't need to turn to it to remember one thing very clearly from his dream: 

It hadn't been his own cock he was stroking. 

  
Instead of the shock he would have expected, the memory caused him to moan and arch his hips, thrusting his cock hard into his hand. He forced himself to stop, to take a deep breath, and then he began to run his fingers slowly over his erection. He'd never really paid a whole lot of attention to it before. Or rather he had paid attention to it as a part (and a sometimes demanding part at that) of himself. Now he thought about what it would be like to touch another man's cock. He wasn't repelled by the idea, far from it, in fact. 

Putting aside any thoughts of what this meant to him, he just indulged in the luxury of lightly stroking himself. It was really amazing how soft his skin was there. It felt like silk, wet silk, and his fingers glided over it. He moaned as he touched _that_ spot, the one that always felt so good, and he wondered if all men had the same hotspots. Probably not, he thought dimly; all women didn't. He tried to remember more about the other man in his dream, about what his cock had been like, and he stroked himself the way he wanted to stroke his dream lover, teasing a little at first and then moving harder, imagining how the other's body would move at his touch. 

_I'm thinking about...wanting to jerk another man off,_ he thought, and a fierce wave of lust swept over him and he came, suddenly and intensely. 

He lay in stunned silence for a moment. "A man," he said softly, experimenting a little with the way it sounded. "My dream lover is a man." Before he could talk himself out of it, he brought his hand to his mouth and carefully licked one of his fingers. 

The watcher almost lost his self-control right then and there. The sight of Jean-Luc Picard, naked, his body sprawled on the bed in a pose of abandon, licking his own semen off his fingers, was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen. He knew that, in a moment, the wheels in Picard's mind would start turning as he tried to figure out whats and whys and wherefores, not to mention the all important who, but for now, he was simply a creature of lust and sensation, and the watcher wanted nothing more than to pounce on him and pleasure him until he passed out due to sheer sexual exhaustion. 

With a start, Picard realized he'd almost completely cleaned his hand off without really thinking about it. The taste wasn't unpleasant at all, but he really hadn't expected it to be. He had kissed lovers after they'd gone down on him and it had never bothered him. He guessed that, like women, different men probably tasted different, and he wondered what _he_ tasted like. 

He. Him. The man he'd been dreaming about. His dream lover. 

Absentmindedly, he cleaned himself off with a corner of the sheet and then moved to the other side of the bed. At least he knew why he hadn't been able to remember whom he was dreaming about. His conscious mind had been looking for a woman where there was no woman. 

But now that he knew it was a man he'd been dreaming about, the major question still remained: who? He tried to remember if he'd ever been attracted to a man, any man, before. There had been little flickers of interest, times when he'd find himself looking at a man and feeling something. It had happened, he remembered, during puberty, that confusing period of hormonal flux, when his sex drive was an enemy, something he saw as an embarrassment and a barrier to achieving his dream of entering Starfleet Academy. 

And then, when he was seventeen, two very different women burst into his life and any confusion about his basic orientation was gone. Shortly thereafter, there was the Academy, and the sudden rise of his personal star. Lovers seemed to fall into his hands the same way good grades and piloting skills seemed to be his for the taking. Oh there had been men who were interested, but things being what they were, he'd never had any reason to return the interest. 

He suddenly remembered Alec Marcus, an engineering cadet a year behind him. He'd actually given serious thought to the quiet invitation for a date that Alec had extended one day, but Lise Hampton, whom Picard had been steadily pursuing for weeks, had interrupted the conversation and he'd ended up going out with her instead of Alec. Amazing that he remembered everything so well, this many years later. And how strange that Lise had turned out to be such a disappointment, boring and self-centered... 

_I was an asshole at the Academy,_ Picard suddenly thought, not for the first time. _And I seem to be doing everything I can to avoid figuring out whom it is that I'm dreaming about._

Jean-Luc concentrated on what he'd told Troi the day before. His lover was tall, which wasn't so odd in a man, and dark-haired. He had large hands, and suddenly Picard had a distinct memory of those hands running over his skin, teasing and touching him while Jean-Luc was somehow restrained. Frowning, he tried to remember more about the man. He had a full, expressive mouth, and was younger, or at least he looked younger than Jean-Luc himself. Again, that wasn't surprising. And his eyes were brown, Picard thought, feeling a certain tension he hadn't really been aware of ease in his chest. 

Brown eyes, the man had brown eyes -- _not_ pale gold eyes, or blue eyes. 

Relived to be certain that he hadn't suddenly developed a passion for Will or Data, Picard tried to remember more. But there wasn't much more to remember, except the recollection of a voice that was almost tangible. He thought of the way he felt when that voice said his name, and wondered why he couldn't remember more, now that his confusion over his dream lover's sex had been resolved. Maybe it _was_ someone he knew, someone unavailable, or someone he thought was unavailable because a relationship between them would be inappropriate. 

_Well_ that _isn't very helpful,_ he thought a little sourly. Anyone on the ship would be inappropriate; his affair with Neela had taught him that much. But what if it _were_ someone on the ship, someone he knew? What if in the next day or two, he narrowed it down until he had a name and a face to go with this overwhelming emotional and sexual passion? Would he back off? What if this hypothetical man wanted Picard as badly as Picard wanted him? He hadn't felt like this about Neela. In fact, even at the height of his painful, guilty love for Beverly, he'd never felt the sense of completeness about their relationship that he felt with his dream lover. For a moment he entertained the notion that if he found this person on the Enterprise, he would be willing to risk the fear of losing him on a mission for the benefit of having a relationship with him. 

Suddenly not interested in sleep, he got out of bed. It was close enough to morning that he didn't want to try to sleep anymore. He would just do some of the paperwork he'd been neglecting while he studied the Escher anomaly. He got out of bed and grabbed his robe off its hook in the bathroom. He'd shower later, before he got dressed. 

Halfway through the first departmental report in his backlog, his door chime sounded. 

"Come." 

He stared in astonishment at the man who walked into the room. "Captain...Jean-Luc," that incredible voice said, and Picard felt himself get hard before the man said anything else. "I just couldn't go a minute more without seeing you." 

"Oh God," Picard said, rising from his desk. His visitor was dressed in loose-fitting civilian clothes and the contrast between the way he looked now and his usual uniformed appearance was startling. Picard was suddenly glad that he hadn't showered and that he didn't have the weight of those four small pips on his collar. 

Jean-Luc all but threw himself into the man's arms and they kissed hungrily. When he finally managed to pull his mouth away, he buried his face into the other man's neck. "I miss you so much sometimes," he said raggedly. "I _want_ you so much..." That was all he got out before his mouth was once more burned by his lover's amazing kiss. He was being maneuvered back toward the desk, and when he reached it, he blindly shoved padds and things off the smooth glass surface, before he ended up sitting on it, still kissing the man in front of him. 

Their hands collided as they both reached to get Picard's robe out of the way, and then Jean-Luc's lover was closing his eyes and trying to breathe properly. "You smell like sex," he murmured, running his hands all over the captain's upper body. 

"I was thinking of you...ohhhh...and I couldn't help it...yesss...I had to..." 

"I wish I could have seen that," that dark, seductive voice said. 

Brown eyes met hazel eyes, and then Jean-Luc said softly: 

"Go ahead and get me wet." 

A second later, he was stroking that dark hair as a skillful mouth made him even harder. Sooner than he expected, he had to reach down and gently grasp the other man's chin. His lover came up off his knees and backed off until he was leaning against one of the easy chairs. 

Aware that those dark eyes were focused on his every movement, Picard leaned back on one hand and slid the other hand over his cock. "I did this and thought of you," he murmured. "And it was...good...but not as...good as when...you do it to...me..." He began to pant as he got closer to release. 

"Oh, but you're so beautiful, Jean-Luc," his lover murmured, and now there was no hesitation in his voice as he used his captain's first name. "Look at you, displaying yourself for me, letting me watch you touch yourself." His eyes almost glowed and Picard could feel himself falling into that dark gaze. "After you're done, I'm going to bury myself inside you, inside all that beauty and heat, and fuck you." 

"OH YES!" Picard yelled as he came. 

A second later, he woke up. 

"Merde, merde, merde," he muttered under his breath. The face was gone. That face, with those eyes that had both caressed and compelled him as he showed off for his lover, had melted into the obscurity of his dream. He was alone again, alone in a bed with sheets that once more needed to be changed. And there was an emptiness in his life that suddenly seemed vaster than he had ever imagined it would be. 

A glance at the clock told him that his alarm was about to go off and he rolled out of bed to face another day. _I'm going to find you,_ he thought, buoyed by his sudden determination. "It doesn't matter who you are," he said out loud. "If you're real, I'm going to find you." 

For the first time, the watcher felt hope. 

Knowing that Escher Eight wasn't due for another four hours, Picard informed Riker that he would be late arriving on the bridge and then contacted Troi. He was suddenly a little wary of facing his crew without talking things over with Deanna. He felt like he should look different from how he did, like discovering something like this about himself would show somehow. But his mirror had merely shown what it had shown for the last several days. He looked relaxed and content, but not appreciably different. _And why should you, really?_ he asked himself impatiently as he left his quarters. 

"What has changed?" Deanna asked him as soon as he'd sat down in her office and accepted a cup of tea. 

"What do you sense from me?" he asked in return. It was a question he tended to avoid with her, having learned that she could be bluntly honest if she thought it was good for him. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then smiled. "A shift in your self-perception. One that you are a little confused about, but not frightened of. You _are_ worried, but it's not a...heavy worry." She smiled. "Who is she?" 

"That's just it, Deanna. I still don't have a name or a face." He paused to smile, and suddenly he looked half his age. Troi hid a smile of her own. It was amazing to see him like this, looking sleek and contented with life, looking, as Will had put it, like someone "who's getting a lot of something very good." 

"But I know one thing I didn't know yesterday." He drew a deep breath. "It's a man." 

Picard was accustomed to the fact that Deanna often knew more about him that he did himself, and so it was very gratifying to see her eyes go round with surprise. She caught the feeling from him and shook her head. Before she could say anything, he smiled and said it for her: 

"How do you feel about that, Captain?" He even managed her accent and she laughed, flattered, as always, by the glimpse at his buried sense of humor. 

"Well?" she asked. 

"As you said, I'm confused." 

"You've never thought of yourself as bisexual, have you?" 

"I thought about that this morning," he began, and went on to talk about the attitude he'd had towards sex during his youth. Deanna was fascinated and found herself comparing the man she knew with the picture he painted of the wild Cadet Picard. 

"So," he finished, "the opportunity was there a couple of times, but I was too busy with women to take advantage of it." 

"Too busy," she asked, "or too nervous?" He looked at her with surprise. "You say that by the time you went to the Academy, you were fairly experienced with women." 

"Yes." He chuckled. "It's so very French that it's almost embarrassing, but my first lover was thirty-five years old to my seventeen years." 

"For Humans that's a little unusual, but my first lover was almost that much older than I was." 

"I know," he said, and then, suddenly, his face got a little red. "At least I assumed so, based on what I know of Betazoid traditions and your...background." Deanna appreciated the fact that he'd substituted "background" for "mother." 

"Was she, your first lover, a teacher? I don't mean literally, but what was her attitude toward the affair?" 

"Very much a teacher," he replied. "I later learned that she had a habit of 'teaching' young men." Troi could detect no rancor in him over the matter. In fact, he still felt a certain gratitude when he thought of the woman. 

"So you went into the Academy more, let's say 'talented,' than most of your peers." He nodded. "But that experience and that ability was limited to sex with women. Do you think that you didn't want to look inexperienced and therefore you didn't follow up on any interest you might have had for other men?" 

Picard thought about that for a while. At eighteen, he'd been desperate to succeed, and his initial failure to get into the Academy had loomed large over his life once he did get there. He'd brought several advantages with him: the uncanny spatial awareness that made him such a good pilot, the fascination with learning that made studying a joy instead of a task, a natural athletic talent that made him succeed at any sport he was interested in, and his skill with women. He'd had to discover the leadership skills while hiding the fear that he wasn't good enough to succeed, and he realized that his womanizing had served not only to cover for the fear of failure, but... 

"It was," he said aloud, almost talking to himself, "something that everyone looked up to." He shook his head. "Good God, first and second year cadets are amazingly shallow. My leadership of my class was based on my winning the Academy Marathon and the fact that I went out with a new girl every week." 

"You were larger than life," Troi said. "And you've looked at your own file, so there's no pretending that you don't know that enough of your instructors saw something underneath that shallow exterior." 

"Well..." He shrugged, making light, as usual, of his genuine achievements. "If that's why I didn't indulge my curiosity at the Academy, did I just carry that pattern with me as I got more mature?" 

"That's part of it. And there's no denying the fact that you really do love women." He looked startled by the blunt statement, and she smiled. "I'm not just talking about sex, but you like being with them, talking to them, listening to them, looking at them. It's probably the reason that you managed to make it out of the Academy without getting married _or_ becoming a completely cynical cad." 

Picard smiled. She was right as usual. He'd never really thought about it before, but he did love all those things and more about women. "I'm not sure why I do, but you're right. So why is my ideal lover suddenly a man?" 

"You know better than to ask _me_ that question." 

"I can't help the feeling that it's one specific person. I still cherish, probably foolishly at my age, the notion that there is Someone (with a capital S) out there for me. Someone who is my perfect mate. Not in the sense that Kamala was, but someone I was born to be with." He looked down at his hands. "And the only question is, have I found him, or am I making him up?" 

Troi looked at him, hoping she was being successful at hiding her surprise. Not at the fact that he was such a romantic, which she'd figured out long ago, but at the fact that he'd shared that information with her so readily. She found herself hoping desperately (and quite unprofessionally) that his dream lover was real and that they would meet and be together. Her captain quite simply _deserved_ to be that happy, to find that person. 

"Captain," she said, then paused and thought: _Oh the hell with it!_

"I hope you have found him." 

He looked at her gratefully. "Thank you, Deanna." 

She nodded and looked at her clock. "We should probably talk more later, but I do have another appointment today." Something made her grin at him. "A premarital session." 

Picard accepted her teasing with surprising grace, and bent to kiss her cheek as he stood up to leave. He paused for a second before walking out the door and she felt him shift back into Captain mode. When he nodded and left, however, there was a faint smile lurking in the corner of his mouth, and she looked forward to a day of contented patients. 

Picard had made it about half-way to the turbo-lift when Riker hailed him. 

"Picard here." 

"Ambassador Arlic, Li, and Data have asked that you join them in Stellar Cartography." 

"How long until Escher Eight?" 

"Three hours, twelve minutes." 

"Tell them I'm on my way. Picard out." 

"But it explains so much," Arlic was saying. "And I can see no other reason why the lace should keep appearing." 

"The concept of a signature to denote the author of a work of art has been almost universal in my experience," Data agreed, moving slightly back so that their small circle now included the captain. Before them loomed the three-dimensional display of Escher Seven. 

"Despite all the activity of the anomaly," Li said, nodding to the captain, "there continues to be absolutely no effect on any tactical systems, apart from the visual, of course. For such a phenomenon to occur naturally...well, there's impossible and then there's just so implausible that you've got to look elsewhere." 

"I have analyzed the lace pattern in conjunction with every known system of communication, and have yet to find a recognizably coherent system. However, that conclusion becomes irrelevant if I am searching for a signature." 

_Brown hair,_ Picard was thinking. _Tall. Could it be...Li?_

He waited to feel horror. He waited to feel like a dirty old man or a confused virgin. Instead, he simply felt intrigued. Li was someone he'd underestimated, and though he was younger than Picard, he wasn't a child. 

Hoping he wasn't giving off any signals yet, Jean-Luc looked carefully at large, strong hands, a long, solid body, dark brown eyes, and lips definitely cut on the full side. His body wasn't leaping into a state of arousal, but he found he was definitely looking at Li as he had often looked at a woman, and it didn't feel bad at all. If Li were his dream lover -- oh, all that warmth, all that love...who cared what the package was? 

"So the lace pattern, if it is the signature, tells us nothing other than that this is probably not naturally-occurring," Arlic said. "Could we find some way to manipulate it? Perhaps some rearrangement of the pattern? If it _is_ a purposeful puzzle, perhaps we've been left clues regarding how to solve it." 

Data nodded and proceeded to the computer console. "I am establishing parameters for a comparison of the lace patterns we have seen so far." 

Arlic rattled off a stream of figures and calculations Picard didn't bother to follow. Instead, very carefully, he stood just a little closer to Li and smiled at him with a captain's nod of approval, everything circumspect. 

"A very good theory, Lieutenant," he said quietly. 

"But just a theory, sir," the security chief said, obviously pleased with the compliment. 

"But certainly the best one we've had so far." Picard lessened the smile into something a little more manly and distant, and almost absently stuck out his hand for Li to shake. Readily, Li grasped his hand, shook it firmly, and then released it as Picard turned to Data and Arlic. 

"Please keep me informed of your progress, gentlemen," he said warmly, then turned and headed for the bridge. 

Only once he was alone in the lift did Picard allow himself to shiver. Li's hand had been as cold and clammy as a jellyfish. 

"How are things in Stellar Cartography?" Riker asked, turning from a rear science station as Picard walked onto the bridge. 

"Last I saw they were comparing variations of the lace pattern." He walked up close to Riker and murmured, "I have to admit, it's given me an idea of my own." The first officer's eyebrows shot up in a pleasant question, and Picard grinned just slightly at him before turning for his ready room. 

Riker's smile turned slightly indulgent as he grew aware of the great mood Picard's manner had brought him. No question: it was shaping up to be quite a day. 

Deanna caught his eye from her chair, winking at him, and he had to smother a laugh. 

Picard got his cup of tea and settled comfortably behind his desk. He had quite an idea about that lace pattern, one so simple it just might be correct. 

"I want you to take me home!" 

Picard sighed. Another public scene. 

"My love," he said as quietly as he could over the music, "I was just talking to him." 

"You were _looking_ at him! I could see it. Everyone could see it!" 

_Everyone can see you working yourself into a state for no reason at all._ "It's my job! I have to talk to other people. That's what 'Public Relations' means. We both have our jobs. You don't see me getting worked up when you have to kiss someone on holo-camera, do you?" 

"That's different! And besides, it's usually a woman!" 

"What difference is that supposed to make? There you are, touching someone, kissing them, sometimes buck naked with them, and I have to watch the whole thing in 3-D and applaud at the end!" 

His lover opened and closed his mouth, his eyes going soft in that way he had no defenses against. "Do you really not like it?" 

"It's hardly my favorite thing," Jean-Luc admitted, moving just a bit closer to the man in order to avoid a waiter and his large tray of empty cocktail glasses, "but I accept that it's part of what you do, what you need to do to pursue your art and your job. Please," here he placed a hand on his lover's broad chest, "can't you do the same for me?" 

His lover smiled, half-tenderness and half-mischief, placing his hand over Jean-Luc's and squeezing. When Picard smiled shyly back, the man pounced, lowering his head quickly to press a possessive kiss on his lips even as he was gathering his body into his arms. With a mental sigh, Jean-Luc kissed back, quickly losing all sense of place while warmth enveloped him and pleasure filled and caressed. 

Dimly, he saw the tell-tale flash of light which meant someone had snapped a holo of them, a holo that would doubtlessly show up on the 'net with rude captions beneath it. At least it happened before his lover's hands moved over his backside to press him against the bulge in his pants. 

Picard pulled away from those lips enough to gasp, "Sometimes, I think you'd make love with me right in front of everyone, if I let you." 

"Oh, Jean-Luc, who knew you were so kinky?" A warm thigh pressed tightly against his groin, and Picard moaned just slightly. Would he let his lover fuck him right here? He seemed in danger of it. 

"Excuse me, sir?" a young female voice. "Could I have your autograph?"" 

"You have my autograph already. You just need to put your glasses on." 

Picard's eyes opened, instinct making him stare at his tea. Yes, there was still a faint hint of steam coming from the liquid. He hadn't been asleep long. His erection pressed against his uniform painfully, but desire wasn't the primary sensation in his body...or at least, it had strong competition from a feeling of being on the verge of a discovery. 

_Glasses? Why am I thinking about glasses? What type of glasses?_

Quickly, he took a sip of his tea and turned on his monitor, getting a schematic of the lace pattern. 

Could it somehow rely on a filter? Could it be something that simple? Wait, he'd been thinking about something simple before he dozed off. 

A screen. But what kind of screen? 

Quickly, he had a list of how they'd found all the previous lace patterns. The odd-numbered anomalies had them in obvious place, the even in not-so-obvious or not-at-all. 

A screen. 

"Could it be that simple?" he asked the empty room, his eyes wandering to his new lionfish. Neuss glumped at him. Perhaps the author of this anomaly wanted to be found. Perhaps...but that would mean his dream lover made the anomaly. Who could do that? 

Well, only one way to proceed. 

"Computer, super-impose the lace pattern from Escher One over Escher Two, compensating for scale." The computer complied, but the image wasn't helpful. "Computer, super-impose Escher One over Escher Two, compensating for scale." Nothing again. "Computer, make a negative of Escher One and super-impose that on Escher Two, compensating for scale." 

The lace pattern clearly emerged. When he did the same thing with Eschers Three and Four, and Five and Six, the pattern appeared again. In fact, though the pattern was the same, the solidity of it seemed to improve, to be working towards some sort of new coherent pattern. 

And he was only a little away from Escher Eight. He glanced at his monitor. Less than an hour now. Time enough to think about his other puzzle. 

Li. He was almost certain it wasn't Li. The physical form was close enough, although he had the feeling that the lover of his dreams was broader across the chest than Li. But...There had been nothing when they touched, no spark, no _feeling_ that this was the One. And that handshake...Li had been _nervous_ and Picard suddenly wondered if he'd been staring at the young man too intently. Had his tac officer thought that Picard was making a pass at him? 

Picard drew a slightly shaky breath, noticing that any trace of desire from his brief dream was completely gone. Sexual harassment was one of Starfleet's crash and burn offenses; one didn't get a second chance. And as a command cadet, everyone had it pounded into their head over and over. Picard could still hear Commander Ravenhurst speaking in that clipped Oxford accent: 

"The men and women you will commanded will _trust_ you. You will literally hold their lives in your hands. Any attempt to take personal advantage of that situation destroys that trust, and it destroys your command." 

It had been the first time the command cadets in Picard's class had heard that. It hadn't been the last. And now, over forty years later, Picard wondered if he'd crossed the line. He didn't think he had; he was personally sure that he hadn't ogled the young man overtly. But _his_ perceptions didn't matter; what mattered was how Li had seen it. 

Then a thought pushed itself gently toward the front of his mind, and he brought up Li's personnel file. _Well, no wonder he's nervous,_ Picard told himself ruefully. In one week, Li was due for his first annual evaluation with Picard. And in the past week, he'd had a grueling battle drill flung at him with no warning, and now he was in the middle of an investigation that he probably felt was way out of his area of expertise. _Poor boy,_ Picard thought. And that thought settled it, his dream lover wasn't Li. He couldn't imagine thinking "poor boy" of the man who haunted his sleep. 

His monitor beeped at him, and he realized that Escher Eight was due to make an appearance in twenty minutes. He looked once more at the picture attached to Li's file. A handsome young man, Picard thought and one who would go far in Starfleet. Resolving not to let those moments in the Astrophysics Lab color his perception of Li, Picard calmly closed down the file, and headed for the bridge. 

As the ready room doors closed behind him and Picard automatically looked around the bridge, he hid a smile. Riker was pacing from console to console, trying to look like a first officer who was merely doing his job, and not someone who was waiting for something important. He was succeeding for the most part, although Troi looked at Riker and then at Picard with a slightly indulgent smile on her face. 

Smiling, Picard stopped at Troi station and bent down. "Am I mistaken," he asked very quietly, "or is everyone on this bridge twitching with anticipation?" 

"If we could get away with it," she replied, her voice equally quiet, "we'd _all_ be pacing." 

"Privilege of rank, I'm afraid," Picard replied. 

Eschewing that particular privilege of rank, he sat down in his command chair, and simply waited, not bothering to hide his curiosity. He wanted to send a message to the people on the bridge, to tell them that it was important not to become blasé about the wonders the universe had in store for them. He didn't know if Will got the hint or if he just realized how transparent his actions were, but with about a minute to go, the first officer sat down in his own chair. Picard flicked one more glance at the time display on the arm of his chair and then waited. 

The whirling colors of the interstellar kaleidoscope seemed to melt, slowing and swirling into what almost looked like a model of a galaxy being born. And impressionistic model, Picard suddenly thought. As if Monet had painted the formation of the Milky Way Galaxy. He wondered why Monet came to mind, but the colors swirled more, this time spreading outward even as they blended together, until the whole thing looked like a bucket of paint overflowing even as it was blended. 

The final color achieved was red, several shades of red. And the final pattern...Picard frowned, he'd seen patterns like that before, but he couldn't remember where right away. As if caused by the blending effect, there were spirals intertwined with other spirals, until, even with the varying shade of color, it was impossible to see where one began and then first left off, particularly as the pattern was three-dimensional. And each spiral _moved,_ slowly, but there was definitely motion here, each spiral flowing sinuously into the next one, each shade of red shifting from almost rose to near burgundy. 

" _The Book of Kells,_ " Picard murmured softly. 

"Captain?" 

"Early Celtic artwork, Number One. The Celts were very fond of spirals and flowing lines like this. It's called interlace." He smiled, remembering the first example of Celtic interlace he'd ever seen. "A...friend of mine had a very impressive set of tattoos, all of them interlace. I always swore that if you stared too long at her back you'd get dizzy." 

Following up on his earlier inspiration, Picard used the super-imposed lace pattern from Escher Seven as a filter, and the overall pattern seemed to become a little clearer. He had no idea what it would look like, but just watching it as it came together made him feel extremely privileged. And he wasn't the only one. The bridge crew almost seemed to hum with contentment. 

Several hours after the appearance of Escher Eight, Picard made his way to the Astrophysics Lab to find Data and Arlic bent over their monitor screens, ignoring the swirling red spirals as they slowly flowed into one another in the model. Picard slowly circled the model, trying to follow one single line. He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that there was only _one_ line to the whole thing. A line that changed color as it moved through its complex maneuverings. After getting lost in the middle of the anomaly, he turned and shared his findings with Data and Arlic. 

"Incredible," Data said. "Are we really seeing the 'signature' of the artist take shape?" 

It wasn't a question that they had any answer for, but Picard remained in the lab for a long time as tests were run and theories were discussed and tossed aside. It was exciting to be at the heart of this kind of investigation, and he felt himself relaxing into the pure discovery of it all. There was no indication that the anomaly was harmful, it didn't want to take over the Federation or threaten life as he knew it. Instead, it seemed to be pure in a way that he very much needed to see. It was beauty for beauty's sake; it and its creator seemed to be saying, "Look! Isn't this great? Wait until you see what I come up with next!" 

And there, in the middle of the Astrophysics Lab, Picard was faced with the truth about his dreams and his dream lover. He was in love with the artist. 

There was no evidence whatsoever to link his dreams with the Escher Anomaly, and there wasn't even any evidence that the anomaly was, in fact, a work of art. But deep in his mind, Picard felt the thought settle in with the weight of truth. Something about this anomaly touched him in a way that couldn't be explained in any other way. There _was_ a mind behind it, and it _was_ a work of art, and Picard was in love with the creator of that work. He left the lab shortly thereafter, relieved that everyone had been so caught up in their work that they hadn't noticed when his manner became subdued. 

He ate so hastily that he couldn't have said what he ate; it was fuel and he needed it. He didn't bother to shower, knowing that he'd have to in the morning anyway. Instead, he rearranged the bed. Tonight, he thought as he put his head where his feet normally were, he'd take a different object with him into his dreams. As they had been on the Enterprise-D, his quarters were on the leading edge of the saucer, Deck Six, Forward, to be exact. When he turned off the running lights near his window, and turned off all the lights in his room, there was nothing before him but the anomaly. And as he slid down into sleep, he focused on that single line of red as it wove in and out of the spirals. 

The scout was young, this was his first campaign. And so it was understandable that he would gulp nervously as he made his report to the captain of the King's best warband. "I'm sorry, sir, but... It was awful, and them men of the cloth..." 

"Calm down, lad," Picard said, "and tell me if they're still there." 

"No, m'lord, the boats were already a half an hour out to sea." 

"Damn them to Hell!" Picard's second said angrily. "Will we never be on time? What was that crazy old man thinking when he told us to wait for..." 

Picard glared at him and the younger man went silent. Now was not the time to get caught up in court politics. "We need to find out what they took and how much damage they did. If they filled their long boats, they'll be heading home. If they didn't..." He didn't need to finish the sentence, and the warband swiftly mounted their horses. 

The monastery was burning. As the warband rode through the fields with their weird standing stones, they could smell the smoke, and as they reached the out buildings they could see all the signs of a raid: burning buildings, dead and wounded lay brothers and tenant farmers, and one or two dead Northmen. Picard looked straight ahead after telling five men to go down to the shore to look for clues as to the raiders' next course of action. He tried to ignore the dead that lay in the courtyard as he wondered if they'd come across the Channel from Ireland or from York, or if they had come all the way from Denmark. 

"Heathen bastards," one of the men muttered. 

"Spread out," Picard ordered curtly. "See if you can find any survivors." 

No doubt his men would think him indifferent to the slaughter. They wouldn't know about the nightmares to which he was already resigning himself. They wouldn't know how much it hurt him to see this place of learning destroyed simply so that a Danish thane could have more silver in his long hall. He had once thought to be a scholar before his brother and father died in battle, and he had once dreamed of a place like this, a peaceful place of learning and the close-knit brotherhood of scholars. Shoving the thoughts aside, he dismounted and climbed the stairs, not into the sanctuary, but into the small library. Here the brothers had copied books and kept their histories current, here they communicated with scholars in places as distant as Rome and Byzantium, and here they had died. 

Smelling the stink of burning vellum, he pulled off his cloak and smothered the fire he found burning in a study carrel. Most of the books were destroyed, burned after their rich covers had been ripped off for the value of their metal. Picard was about to leave when he heard a groan from a carrel near the end of the room. 

"Come no closer," a man called out in oddly accented Latin. 

"I'm Lord Jean-Luc Picard," Picard called out, also in Latin. "The raiders have left." 

He looked into the small cubicle and saw a man huddled under the great slanting desk. "Of course they did," the man said coming out from under the desk. "They took everything worth taking." He swore in some language that Picard didn't recognize. As the man got to his feet, Picard also noticed that he wasn't wearing a habit, but was wearing a colorfully embroidered tunic and checkered trews. He was a big man, and his hands clutched something to his chest. Tears had left their tracks on his face, and more started up as he looked around and swore further. 

"You're not a brother." 

"No, I'm an Irishman. I was hear to learn to speak your confusing Frankish tongue. In return, I was teaching a couple of the brothers how to illuminate the way we do at home." He looked around as the absurdity of their conversation sunk in. "How could anyone..." His voice broke off and he looked away. It took a moment, but Picard realized that the Irishman was crying harder. He was trying to disguise it, no doubt believing that this Frankish knight would think him weak. 

Picard didn't think him weak at all. It seemed to him that someone needed to mourn, and he suddenly felt ashamed of the pride he took in his ability to keep his anger and pain so tightly under control. Acting on rare impulse, he stepped up to the other man and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn't say anything; there was nothing to say that would provide any comfort. He hoped that the simple closeness of another living person would let the man know that he wasn't alone. 

Picard hadn't expected that his small gesture would have the result it did. The man turned and almost fell into Jean-Luc's arms, sobbing as if he would never stop, and he bundle he'd been clutching fell to the floor. "Darkness..." the Irishman sobbed. "The lights...are going...out and there's nothing...nothing but darkness..." 

Picard held him closer, feeling tears burn at his own eyes. He thought of the weak vacillating man on the throne in Paris, and the raids which grew worse every year. He thought of his mother and sister-in-law, both widowed on the same day, the day that had destroyed Jean-Luc's own hopes of being able to learn in peace. "We do what we can," he murmured gently. "Protect what we can, save what we can." It was what he told himself at night when the dreams came and it was all he had to offer this man. 

The other man clung to him harder and his hands stopped clutching at the hard leather on Picard's back. Those hands began to move differently, and suddenly Picard knew that there was something else he could offer. It wasn't much, but he knew it for that grasping need to reaffirm life in the midst of death and darkness. It happened between soldiers, and far more often than most people knew. Who else would understand? 

They were kissing then, tears still running down their faces. The other man was murmuring something in what Picard assumed was Irish and suddenly those foreign words sounded like music. Jean-Luc almost pulled back, aware that he was drawn to this in a way that wasn't what he'd expected. For some reason, this had the sudden potential to go beyond mere comfort. Then the other man pulled back and looked at him and he was lost in a pair of dark brown eyes. Needing to assuage the pain he saw there, Picard reached for the straps and buckles of his armor, tugging at them impatiently. 

And then with hurried and fumbling movements, they were on the floor, both mostly undressed. The surroundings didn't matter, there was skin against skin, and the other's breath, and they were somehow holding the dark at bay. For Jean-Luc, it were as if, in the act of giving comfort, of being strong, he found comfort and strength. He ended up on top of the other man, holding him close, stroking the dark hair, and kissing at the tears that still spilled from those sad eyes. He could feel the hardness of the man's cock against his own painfully hard erection, and he moved, slowly at first and then with more urgency, spurred on by the need in the other man's eyes. He imagined that he saw a lifetime of loneliness and loss in those eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to spend whatever years he had left building something lasting with this man. And then, as their bodies moved roughly against each other, he saw what the Irishman had been protecting. 

Even as the strong body beneath him thrust against Picard's aching cock, Jean-Luc felt as if he were falling into a spiral of red. He'd never seen anything like this before and suddenly those sinuous curving lines seemed to wrap themselves around his heart the way their creator had. He had no doubt that this was the Irishman's work, and it was simply the most beautiful thing Jean-Luc had ever seen. And there was a question he _had_ to ask. "Who are...you?" he gasped out. 

"You know...me," was the ragged reply. "I'm...ohhhhhhh!" 

The man came then and it was enough to set Jean-Luc off. Crying out, he thrust once more against the warm skin beneath him and... 

He woke up. 

Picard's eyes opened onto the swirls of red. 

"Oh, please..." he moaned, frustration making him ache with the blood-heavy pressure between his legs. "Don't leave..." His hips pumped involuntarily, rubbing him against the sheets, and he closed his eyes when the sensation felt almost like a lover's warm hand caressing him. When he pumped again, however, there was nothing but the sheet. 

His eyes flew open, staring into the wondrous artwork as though it were his lover's face. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't leave. Don't you understand? I know you're here. Please..." 

The watcher had never been frightened quite this way before. One wrong step here, one wrong move...he almost forced himself to leave rather than take the risk. But he couldn't leave, not when Jean-Luc looked like _that,_ and he couldn't appear, not yet. But perhaps he could help Picard a little with that lovely, lovely cock. 

He moved down again, pressing just a thought of himself against the man's erection, something light enough for the man to believe later had only been his imagination. His fear and his delight spiraled up when the man responded by closing his eyes once more with a groan and pressing his cock back against that touch. 

"Please," the man begged, somehow making the one word sound like poetry. The watcher thought of seeking refuge in another dream. 

"No, please," Picard asked gently when he felt the tug of sleep in his mind. "I don't want to dream of you, I want to be _with_ you, even like this..." 

There was a pause, and somehow the man knew a decision was being made. He lay there unmoving on the bed, except for the pulse of his heart and the reaction in his cock to each beat of blood. The red of the anomaly's swirls and counter-swirls grew thicker to his eyes, darker, pulsing in synch with his heartbeat, responding to him. The red shine of it glinted off the sweat on his skin, outlining the hard curves of his form where they were not wrapped inside the twining black sheet. 

Picard gasped. Heat. Warmth. Touching him, lightly. There, the same place the red shine grew brighter. 

Breathing quietly, trying to project his calm as though he were approaching a wild animal, Jean-Luc watched the red warmth around him increase and spread until his whole body was wrapped several times around by tendrils of the vibrant shades of rose and blood. One tendril trailed over his nipples, and he almost screamed at the pleasure of it. Another tickled the curve of his stomach and teased his navel, and he did scream, quietly, hoarse with the need for more. Two more tendrils were moving slowly up the inside of his thighs, then down, then even more slowly back up again. 

"Yes!" he shouted, painfully, wonderfully aroused. His hands longed for something to caress as well, and even as he thought it, tendrils made their way to his fingers and palms. He was stroking them and being stroked, connecting himself to the lace vortex of crimson heat that marked him. 

Tendrils moved now everywhere, over his legs and arms, tenderly over his face, around the swirls of his ears, on the soles and tops of his feet and between his toes. Several now were playing with his nipples, brushing his lips, sliding with gentle, insistent warmth between his buttocks. Picard knew he was groaning and crying out almost constantly now. "Yes!" seemed to be the word he said most, but there were also "More!" and "So good!" and always, "Please, please, please." He tried to put into those words something for his lover to hear and understand, something... _something_ to make those tendrils finally move to his leaking, straining cock. Just one touch there, and he would die. 

"Ahhhhh!" he cried as a tendril slipped just inside his anus and teased ever-so-gently while one thick red tendril curled itself into a series of bands, poised itself over his cock even while Picard thrust vainly at it, then very slowly lowered its tight heat around his needy, aching flesh. 

"Yes!" Jean-Luc screamed as he thrust his hips forward in an instant rhythm, fucking the anomaly and knowing only the pleasure it brought, the pleasure he tried to share with his body's dance, his voice's song of endless, boundless joy. He kept pumping instinctively, and the bands of red light responded by moving against him, pressing along each nerve, pressing against his straining sac, over and along and under and over again with absolute perfection of delight and arousal until the man knew he had to die with the sensations filling him. He couldn't take any more. There seemed to be nothing of himself left, no captain, no man, no humanity, only a pulsing shell sprawled out on a soft bed, wrapped in vermilion energy and filled with hot ecstasy. When he came, he knew he would explode into nothing. 

"Yes!" he screamed, feeling that explosion coming nearer. Let there be nothing, let there be only the red light and the joy it brought. He was pressing now in urgency to bring it on, straining inside that light wrapped around his cock, pumping down against the small tendril still teasing just inside the opening to his body, caressing the light which held his hands down, writhing his arms and legs against the tangible warmth that covered him completely. He would come, and be nothing, and the red swirls of light would see it all. 

His nipples were pinched, his anus teased just a little more insistently, his cock stroked just a bit harder, and then he came and it was an explosion as powerful as his whole life's essence, ripping through a path of no resistance, taking everything he was and transmuting it into bliss and joy. He screamed and screamed and plunged himself deeper and deeper inside. All light, all darkness, even if it were death, whatever he was feeling, he wanted it. He would always want it, need it, crave it. So fucking _good._

"Love..." he whimpered as oblivion took him. 

On the bridge, Data noted a slight fluctuation in the anomaly's energy signature, but then, he had been noting them since Escher One first appeared. 

Picard woke up to an empty, semen-stained bed, his eyes dazzled by the red swirls, his body filled with joy. He felt wonderful. Incredibly wonderful. Invincible and treasured. Sated and pampered and decadent and content. 

Then he remembered something from the dream, something about actually being inside the anomaly, being loved by it directly. The memory felt...different from a regular dream fragment, but when he tried to get more of it, it all slipped from his grasp except the sliver of a moment, an instant of pressing his cock inside red light and being unbearably pleasured. 

"You're a little kinky, aren't you?" Picard asked his dream lover, for the moment quite certain his rumbling voice was being heard and understood. He stretched luxuriously, uncaring of the sweat and cum stains on his body, feeling for all the world like a harem boy who'd been well-loved and then given the day off to enjoy the afterglow. "I think I like that." 

The captain chuckled and slid a hand down over his chest, not to become aroused, but simply to enjoy the feeling of his own solid warmth. He knew his alarm would go off in a minute, and instructed the computer to give it a miss. Slowly, wanting to go to the bridge and see what new colors and shapes might appear on the viewscreen while his crew enjoyed studying this mysterious artwork designed, it seemed, especially for them, he sat up, looking deeply into the anomaly his lover had somehow created. 

"Thank you for this," he said solemnly. "Whyever you are hiding yourself. Whatever it is that you fear from me. I will always cherish the memory of how I feel right now." 

And then, not really sure why he was doing it, Picard pushed away the last of the sheet and lay there naked in front of the anomaly, bathed again in its red light. For just this moment, he could not feel absurd or self-conscious, could not worry that he was being perverted or presumptuous. Instead, he spread his legs just slightly, leaning back on his strong arms, trying to say clearly: _For you._

The watcher knew he would cherish this memory forever as well, making a record in his mind of the placement and motion of every last atom in the room. Picard was displaying himself to _him,_ and it wasn't in a dream, or in the grip of sexual need. 

Again the watcher felt a stab of hope. Could this work out? Could he be...accepted? 

Picard sighed with contentment and rose from the bed, quite certain that somehow his message had been conveyed. He stripped the bed slowly, feeling his nakedness and the satisfaction which had settled in his stomach. A lengthy water shower followed, and though he didn't masturbate, it felt unbelievably good, and he reached out the door for his sonic shaver simply to linger a while longer under the water. He dried himself roughly with a towel, reveling in the sensations against his flesh. Into his uniform next, then a stop by the mirror and -- 

_Oh, dear,_ he thought. This wasn't going to work. 

Even to his own eyes he was glowing. Light danced in his pupils, his expression was full of soft wonder, and his skin was slightly flushed. 

_Was it a dream?_ He could recall so little of it, and yet... 

He strode to his desk and called up the sensor records for the past eight hours. He noted, like Data, five energy fluctuations, but nothing unusual, at least, in terms of this anomaly's unusualness. No sensors had detected the anomaly coming into his bedroom and making love to him in his bed. 

The sliver of memory had returned, slightly more insistently, and yet it did feel like a dream. 

_Or perhaps, it's a real memory someone wants me to_ think _is a dream._

It was a disturbing idea, being manipulated mentally like that, but he felt too good to think about it now. 

Besides, right now he had a bigger problem. It was time for him to be on the bridge, and another look in the mirror told him he was still shining like a...a... 

He started laughing, hard belly laughs that nearly doubled him over. What a ridiculous position! Unable to take command of his ship because he had "love slave" written all over his face. 

_Hi, Will, Data, everyone. Sorry if I'm glowing in the dark, here, but last night I fucked the anomaly, and, well..._

His laughter got worse, or better, depending on how he wanted to look at it, and he ended up collapsing onto his couch, lasting through the urge to laugh until it was completely spent. He wiped a few tears out of his ears and splashed his face with cold water, then realized the strain of laughing had taken away the diffused glow he'd found so inconvenient. He was obviously still in an absurdly good mood, but he wouldn't make everyone gasp. 

During the short ride in the lift, he concentrated on captainly thoughts, including a report he'd been putting off on his screen idea for the anomaly. He thought he had his expression under control when he came onto the bridge, and Riker and Data, standing with LaForge near the port science station, nodded at him. 

The engineer was concentrating on his report, facing the read-out he was manipulating with skilled fingers over the controls. Looking at those hands made Picard think of something he didn't want to think about on the bridge, so with a little inner anger, he focused on the read-out and realized it was a chemical break-down of a composition he hadn't seen before. 

"It's simultaneously solid and yet perfectly malleable," LaForge was saying. "It seems to be produced by the gravimetric forces unique to this area." 

"You've found a natural cause of the anomaly?" Picard asked, his voice a little hoarser than it should have been. He tried clearing his throat slightly. 

LaForge turned to look at him in slight surprise, then shook his head. "Oh, no, sir. Nothing like a cause, but I have found something inside the anomaly which might explain why our cosmic artist chose this location." 

"It seems we've uncovered a naturally-occurring space-born alloy," Riker explained. "It's being used as the primary component in the structure of the Eschers." 

"We couldn't see it at first," LaForge said, "because it looks like a collection of common minerals in flux, but," he manipulated the display again, and Picard was looking at a diagram of the molecules, "as you can see, the gravitational stresses have caused several electrons out of their orbits, creating a network of bonds. 

"We have scanned the area, sir," Data put in, "and found this alloy in great abundance. From what we can tell, it would seem to be completely natural and endemic to this sector of space." 

"Enough to...harvest?" Picard asked, getting smiles from LaForge, whose face was alight with the possibilities. 

"You bet. Sir, a property like this....properly manipulated, it would be a perfect conduit for warp plasma. It seems almost to have no boiling point." 

"It would also help out in more than one surgical instrument," Beverly's voice said from over Picard's shoulder. They opened their circle a bit to include her. 

"The uses for this material would seem to be almost unlimited," Data said. "I recommend informing Starfleet Command as soon as possible so that they can dispatch an appropriate science team for further research." 

"Agreed," Picard said with a nod at Riker. "Although I have no intention of leaving here until our own studies are complete." 

Geordi beamed. "Thank you, sir." 

Riker nodded and moved off to begin constructing the report, and LaForge turned back to his display. 

"Mr. Data," Picard asked. "How far are we from Kes-Prytt space?" 

"Almost sixteen light-years, sir." 

Picard nodded. "Please inform the ambassador of all we've learned and invite him to join in our study." 

"Aye, sir." 

That left only Beverly, and when he turned to her, he realized somewhat guiltily she might be here to ask about his absence from breakfast all these days. 

"Captain," she said, her eyes on the display the chief engineer was reconfiguring yet again. "I'd like permission to take a shuttle and gather a sample of the material for study." 

"From the anomaly?" 

The doctor looked scandalized. "No, no. I was thinking of this section of space here." She walked to the second port science station and brought up her own display. "It's far enough away from the anomaly and the ship for a nice buffer if there should be any difficulties." 

"Take Mr. Data with you after he has talked to Ambassador Arlic." 

She smiled and looked to the android, who nodded and went with her to the turbo-lift. Picard himself went to his ready room and began his official report on the situation, aided by Riker, who came in an hour later with his own report on the material. 

"We need a name," the first officer commented. "LaForge, with your permission, wants to call it Escherite." 

"Seems appropriate, Number One," Picard agreed. The reports were completed and dispatched, and Riker was going to leave, when the captain asked him to stay. It was time to let him know some of what was happening. 

If there were anything to know. 

"I think we may be dealing with an intelligent lifeform which has not only created the anomaly, but may still be here," he stated flatly. 

Riker's blue eyes brightened and his broad grin appeared. "The dreams?" 

Picard opened his mouth and then closed it, before grousing, "You've been overly influenced by Counselor Troi." 

Riker was careful not to laugh too hard. Picard in a jovial and teasing mood was a rare gift, and one to be enjoyed very, very privately. "She does get to you, sir," he agreed. When Picard didn't instantly respond, he asked with a strictly professional tone, "You've felt someone trying to communicate with you." 

"Perhaps. I don't really know anything. I'm trying some of the Counselor's techniques to remember my dreams better, but so far I have very little." Riker watched in surprise as a look of annoyance crossed the captain's face. "But it doesn't seem to matter what I have. I'm certain of it, Will. I'm certain that someone is there and trying to reach...us. We're already running all the scans we can, but I just wanted you to be aware of what I am expecting us to find...and to keep it under your hat for now." 

"Understood, sir." Riker thought a moment. "I'll start looking for any sort of patterns in the ship's behavior, anything unusual or a little too routine." 

Gratitude washed through him. Riker really was an exemplary officer, and he was damn lucky to have him. "Thanks, Will." 

"Thanks for telling me," Riker said, getting up before he said something stupid or cracked a joke. "I just hope we make contact. I'd sure like to meet the sculptor." 

_You're not the only one,_ Picard thought as he watched Riker leave the ready room. The captain was still fighting the strong hold of the not-quite-dream he'd had the night before and he didn't want to think about it now. He'd dozed off in his ready room once already, and he didn't want to do it again. "Come on Jean-Luc, it's time to do some work," he muttered. He then called up LaForge's primary report on Escherite and began to write up a report of his own for Starfleet. Once that was done, he went over more paperwork. For a long time, the ready room was silent as he worked. 

Finally, his monitor beeped, informing him that Escher Nine was due in about 15 minutes. Picard called up a still shot of Escher Eight and looked at it for a long moment. It was so beautiful and so complex, and he wondered how he would display the moving 3-D copy of it. It moved through one cycle every 23 minutes, the red swirling thought the spiral and shade changes before starting all over again. Picard was determined to find a way to keep a copy in his quarters, and he was once more filled with a sense of wonder. 

Reaching out to touch the small screen, he murmured, "Your work is brilliant, absolutely beautiful. You're one of the most gifted artists I know of. Thank you." He still maintained the feeling that the artist (or the "Artist" as he was beginning to think of his dream lover) could hear him, and he knew he should be more worried about addressing the empty air of the room. The computer beeped again and he left the room quickly, wondering what new beauty his lover would come up with. 

Noticing that Riker was keeping an eye on the bridge crew, Picard felt sorry that he'd had to ask his first officer to do part of his job for him. Then he mentally shrugged; they'd been in circumstances before where one or the other of them had been under the influence of something or another. Once more grateful that he had someone like Will to trust, he smiled at the man and then turned his attention to the viewscreen. 

Picard may have missed the look of surprise that washed over Riker's face at the captain's swift, but radiant smile, but the watcher did not. He had to laugh as Riker suddenly seemed to understand what it was that made Picard such an object of desire among the crew. Then the anomaly was changing again and the watcher's attention was split between it and Jean-Luc's reaction to it. 

The speed of the red spirals' turning motion increased, and Picard felt his eyes strain as they struggled to take in the almost dizzying motion. He couldn't help flashing to that instant of memory from last night and he felt a sharp stab of longing as he thought about being wrapped up in those red coils of energy. Hoping that he wasn't infringing on Troi too much, he stared at the viewscreen fiercely. 

Suddenly the pulsing interlaces were moving at speeds impossible for the eye to follow and Picard had to squint, forcing himself to not focus on the swirling red lines. Then the center of the multiple spiral began to glow, almost as if lit from within by some warm gold light. The gold flared and then paled and in the place of the spiral was a complex series of interlocking rings. To Picard it looked almost like an orrery, the ancient model of the Solar System used by the astronomers of the 1700s. However, this was far more complex a design than those simple models had been. Rotating around what appeared to be a solid sphere of gold were several bands of gold, each tilted on a different axis until it looked like some sort of Chinese puzzle ball. Each band was marked with a glowing sphere of color, looking for all the world like a jewel. Of course, if Picard's reading of his monitors were correct, each of those "jewels" was as large as his ship. The whole thing moved with a clockwork precision and Picard couldn't shake the notion of those early scientists and alchemists who had sought order in the heavens and resorted to mechanical models to explain their theories. 

He mentioned his notions to Arlic and Data in the Astrophysics Lab, selfishly and very privately glad that Li had apparently decided that he could contribute no more to the investigations and was nowhere to be seen. 

"Could that model out there represent an actual star system?" Picard asked. 

"It's possible, Captain" Arlic replied, "but it would be a very complex system." He frowned and looked over Data's shoulder as the android's finger moved rapidly over an LCARS control panel. 

"If it is a star system," Data reported a short while later. "It does not correspond to any system in our data banks." 

Viewing Escher Nine through the filter made up by the other Eschers revealed that the jumbled pattern that Picard assumed was the Artist's signature was becoming clearer. "We probably won't recognize it when we have a clear view of it," he said after staring at it for a while. "We can't expect that he's signed it in a language we understand." 

"Who knows what we'll have?" Arlic murmured. The Prytt ambassador was staring almost absently at the anomaly and he shook himself slightly and looked back at Picard. "I'm sorry, but the movement of those colored spheres is almost hypnotic." 

"Ambassador," Data said, excitement obvious in his voice, "you may have just said something very important. One moment..." 

It was several moments before he turned and smiled at Picard and Arlic. "I traced the movement of the spheres through one complete cycle of movement. You can see what pattern they make when connected." 

Picard wasn't all that surprised to see the lace again. It was as familiar and as welcome as an old friend, and without thinking he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly across the screen on which Data had displayed his findings. 

"Brilliant," the captain murmured. "I wonder if there's ever been any work of art so complex and so beautiful." 

"I doubt it," Arlic said quietly. "We're privileged to be witnessing this." 

Picard agreed and remained in the lab for quite a few more hours as they ran tests and speculated on the nature of what they were seeing. Data reported that LaForge and Crusher were ecstatic over the samples of Escherite that had been obtained near the anomaly. Picard left a message for the two of them, asking that they keep him posted, and then he headed for his quarters and another night of dreams. He had been awake through both the Alpha and Beta watches and the Gamma watch was starting as he quickly ate dinner. Once more, he slid in to bed naked, and once more he concentrated on the anomaly as he prepared for sleep. 

"What is it?" The PI was glad he kept his curiosity out of his voice as the lovely red-haired woman handed him a photograph. 

"The Cambridge Orrery" she said, her husky voice caressing his senses. "It was being brought to San Francisco to be displayed at our exhibit of scientific devices." The beautiful woman who claimed to be from the De Young Museum looked down at her hands. 

"And now it's missing." Dixon Hill tossed the photo of the strange gold model onto his desk and leaned back in his battered chair. "Why hasn't the museum contacted the police?" 

"We've been asked not to involve the police." 

"Who asked?" 

Her gaze met his and then slid away, and Hill prepared to hear a lie or an evasion. "The owner of the Orrery." 

After much pulling and prodding, he extracted a name from her and took the generous amount of money she handed over. "Just find where the Orrery is being kept and we'll deal with the rest of it," she said, as she stood up and prepared to leave the dingy office. She tugged at her skirt, emphasizing her lovely figure and shot a sidelong glance in his direction. "If you need _anything_ Mr. Hill, don't hesitate to call me." 

_Dr. Marilyn Lynley. Assistant Director._

Hill looked at the card she'd handed him and muttered, "Assistant Director of what?" 

A few minutes later, he was on the phone with a source of his. Art historians and PIs didn't normally move in the same circles, but Hill had recovered a stolen painting for Professor Saunders and the professor had helped him out on a few cases. After receiving an invitation to drop by the professor's house that evening, Hill put Dr. Lynley's money in the bank, paid his rent on both his tiny apartment and his office and went back to that office to give Madeline the three weeks back pay he owed her. 

"Nice case," his secretary drawled nasally. "A red-headed broad with dough." 

"My favorite type of woman, doll." 

"Yeah," she said looking at him shrewdly. "Right up there with blondes and brunettes with money." 

"Don't forget black-haired dames with fat wallets." 

"Dix, you're too much." Madeline giggled, and grabbed her purse. "I gotta go, Danny's taking me to dinner." 

"You still stringing him along? He's no good for you, Mad." 

"And who is? You?" She turned in the doorway. "See ya, Dix." 

She was a nice girl, Hill thought as he tucked the photo in his pocket, and headed for the professor's house. A nice girl, and he could do a lot worse than settle down with her. He would be better for her than all those crazy jazz musicians she hung out with. He'd helped her bail out more than one of the men in her life, and he supposed he'd keep on helping her. But she didn't interest him, at least not as a girl should interest him. _Women,_ he thought. _Can't live with 'em, can't toss 'em off the Bridge._

"Ah, Mr. Hill, come in, come in." Professor Saunders smiled as he led Hill into the parlor. "Would you like a drink?" 

"Thanks, I'll take a scotch, if you've got it." 

"Here." 

Hill turned to find a handsome, dark-haired man offering him a glass. "Drink up, Mr. Hill; Dr. Saunders only buys the good stuff." Dixon took the glass out of the man's large, long-fingered hand, trying not to reveal his shock at the way he felt as their fingers brushed. He thought about what he knew about Saunders, and assumed that the other man was a close "friend" of the professor's. 

"This is Dr. Havers," Saunders said, smiling. "He's an art appraiser, and an expert on obscure antique scientific devices. 

"Well, this is sure obscure, Doc," Hill said, feeling embarrassed at his automatic and incorrect assumption about Havers. He fished the photo out of his pocket and handed it to the younger man. 

"My God!" Havers burst out. "The Cambridge Orrery! What's that doing here in the States?" 

Hill explained about the exhibit and Saunders shook his head. "There's no such exhibit at the De Young, and there won't be anytime soon." 

"I didn't expect that Miss Lynley was on the level with me, Professor." Hill finished his scotch. "She had too much money and she didn't want to bring the police into it." He paused and looked at the two men. "Do either of you know of a limey named Lord Tavers? He's supposedly the owner of the Orrery." 

The two academics exchanged a glance. "Burton Travers?" Havers asked. "He no more owns that thing than I do." 

"He's not exactly a lord either," Saunders said. "Some say he's a thief, but he's never been caught stealing anything, just like he's never been caught forging anything. He's just been involved in some...shady deals." 

"Shady deals? In the art world?" 

"Mr. Hill," Dr. Havers said, smiling at Dixon. "The material in the Orrery is worth a half a million dollars alone. Furthermore, the Orrery has been missing from its accustomed place in Pembroke College, Cambridge for two years now." He shook his head. "Most people assume it's been cut up for the gold and the gemstones that mark each ring, but this tells us it hasn't." He tapped the photograph. 

"Oh?" Hill asked. Perhaps there was more money in art and antiques than he thought. 

"The Orrery was displayed in the chapel at Pembroke. This picture was taken in what looks like a warehouse." 

Hill walked home, trying to work the problem of the Orrery over in his mind. He was finding it hard to think about the antique astronomical instrument and the mysterious woman who had paid him to find it. Instead, he kept thinking about a slightly mocking voice and long fingers cradling a glass of scotch. He sighed, thinking that he'd gotten over this sort of behavior, that after Stephen and his betrayal, he knew better. Men were dangerous, and it was too easy to fall for one. Women were safer. So why was climbing the stairs to his apartment, thinking of a pair of dark eyes and wondering what Dr. Havers' first name was? 

He was too preoccupied, and by the time he knew something was wrong, it was too late. A fist came out of nowhere and connected with his chin. It was quickly followed by another one that struck him solidly in the stomach, and he doubled over. The attack was too sudden for him to try and fight them off, and when another blow connected, he went down, hitting his head on the banister and falling down into unconsciousness. He felt hands rifling through his clothes and then...nothing. 

"Come on, just wake up, give me your keys, and we'll get you into the apartment." Hill obeyed the voice, letting a tall, broad form help him to his feet. As his head cleared, he saw Dr. Havers' concerned face looking down at him. "It's all right, Mr. Hill." 

"Ohhh," Dixon groaned, putting a hand to his head. He paused for a moment and then patted his pockets. Handing his keys to Havers, he checked to see if his wallet were still in his breast pocket. It was, and as he followed Havers into his small apartment, he frowned. "Did you scare them off?" 

"No," Havers replied. "I didn't see anyone." He looked around and headed for the kitchen. He reappeared with a bottle of bourbon in his hand. "Here, you look like you need a stiff drink." 

Hill gulped down a swallow of the bourbon, sighing at the feeling of warmth that radiated from his throat. "That's the stuff," he muttered, letting Havers help him out of his trench coat and suit jacket. "It's odd," Hill continued after another hit of bourbon, "but they didn't take my wallet or keys." 

"Anything else missing?" 

"Hmmm...damn! The photo of the Orrery!" He rechecked his pockets, but it was gone. 

"Don't worry about the photo, Hill. That's a nasty cut you have on your chin there, we need to get that cleaned up." 

"I have to worry about that photo," Dixon replied, allowing Havers to follow him through the bedroom to the tiny bathroom. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the corner that served as a laundry pile. As he began to wash his face, he was suddenly aware of Havers' presence behind him. Annoyed at the feeling of well-being that presence brought on, he scowled at the other man. "If I don't have that photo, I don't have any way of finding the damn thing." 

"Yes, you do; I'll sketch out the photo for you. I have a photographic memory, very useful for an art appraiser." He looked around. "Do you have any iodine?" 

"Will you stop hovering?" Hill snapped. He caught a glimpse of a hurt expression on the other man's face before Havers backed away. 

"I'm sorry," that expressive voice said. 

"No," Hill said following Havers back into the bedroom. "I'm sorry. It's just that..." 

"I'm not Dr. Saunders' lover," Havers burst out. "I know that's what you thought, but..." 

"Was I that obvious?" 

The other man looked down at the ground and then back up, a sheepish smile on his face. "Only to someone who was staring at you." He shrugged. "You are rather devastating, you know, and when you looked interested..." 

"I can't do this," Hill muttered. He looked at Havers almost desperately, thinking about how good it would feel to touch the man, to be with him. 

"No one will know." 

"It's not that..." Suddenly tired, Dixon sat down on the bed. 

"Who is he?" Havers asked gently, moving to sit next to Dixon on the bed. It seemed that Hill could feel the heat of the other man even though they weren't touching. 

"His name is Stephen Girabaldi and his father is..." Hill tried to come up with a discreet way to describe Antonio Girabaldi. "A rather independent family businessman." 

Havers nodded. "I know what you mean. I take it he didn't take too kindly to discovering certain things out about his son?" 

"He tried to use me," Hill said dully. "I'm no cop, but I don't get involved in drug running. When I told Stephen to make the decision between me and his father...the old man won." 

"I'm surprised you didn't end up face-down in the Bay." 

"If I hadn't told the old man that I had arranged for certain information to be made public on my death, I would be." 

"You haven't done that, of course." 

"No, but how did you guess?" 

Havers looked at him. "Brian Saunders said you could be trusted. I didn't think you'd expose anyone, even someone who..." 

"Betrayed me." Hill sighed. "I couldn't do it. He was young and scared and...at the time...I loved him." He sighed again and rose to his feet, going into the bathroom and returning with the bottle, which he handed to Havers after taking a gulp. 

"God," Havers said softly. "I'm sorry, Dixon." 

Hill looked up when he heard his first name, and smiled. "Dr. Saunders?" 

"I asked about you." Havers looked at the bottle in his hands. "I couldn't help it, I felt something..." 

"I know...so did I." 

Looking as if he scarcely believed his luck, Havers reached out his hand and brushed it across the unbruised side of Hill's face. "Look, I understand if this is too...ohhhh..." 

Hill had decided, with one of his sudden impulses, that he wanted this too much to hide behind the past. Stephen was gone and this man was here, and, right now, that was enough. And so, as the large warm hand caressed his face, he turned slightly and captured the other man's thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and smiling privately at the response. 

Stunned by his own need, Hill reached up and grabbed Havers' wrist. Leaning back, he pulled the other man back until they were lying face-to-face on the bed. In spite of the pain pulsing from his own injuries, Dixon wanted to be the aggressor here, wanted to take what was being offered, what he'd denied himself for two long years. As he let go of Havers' wrist, he began pulling their clothing out of the way, surprised at his own urgent need. That need was obviously echoed by his new lover, who helped with buttons and zippers until they were both naked. 

Wanting to learn everything he could about the long body stretched out on his bed, Hill stroked and touched and kissed his way across that broad chest. His efforts were met with sighs and moans of arousal, and when he started moving his head further down, those long hands caressed his shoulders. 

"Feels sooo good..." his partner moaned as Dixon bent and kissed the leaking tip of his erection. "I wanted you...ohhh...the minute I saw...you...ahhhh...that's what's going...on here..." 

Something nudged the back of Hill's mind, even as he slid his mouth down over the smooth-as-silk skin of the other man's cock. He relegated it to his subconscious as he paid lavish attention to what he was doing. His partner was moaning rather steadily now, and Hill felt his own need spike in response to that voice as it pleaded with him. 

"Please...so good...need you...want you...wanted you...for so long..." 

He sat up suddenly, looking down at the naked form stretched out and writhing on his bed. Forcing himself to ignore the hungry demands of his own body and the joy he felt at seeing how gorgeous his lover was when fully aroused, he stared intently at the man's face. 

"Who are you really? Your name isn't Havers." 

"No. And your name isn't Hill." 

"I _need_ to know," Picard said, fighting the other need that threatened to keep him in the dream. "I love you so much, and I _want_ you..." 

He looked into those confused brown eyes and leaned down and kissed the man, moving to cover that firm body with his own. "This will all be gone when I wake up," he said. He bent for another searching kiss, claiming the mouth of the man below him with intensity. His lover pressed up against him and Picard reached down and pinned him to the bed by his shoulders. "What are you afraid of? I _love_ you!" 

The long body shuddered and the brown eyes gleamed fiercely with pain. "You almost do, don't you?" 

Picard growled furiously in response and lowered his head to grind a kiss against those full lips. He pressed his body down as well, moving against the broad chest, long legs, strong arms. His erection rubbed deeply into his soft belly, made slick with Jean-Luc's precum. At first the Artist beneath him only accepted his kiss and shuddered to his touch, but then, with a groan that rumbled out from deep inside him, the mysterious lover of Jean-Luc's dreams enfolded him in those strong arms and wrapped his long legs around Picard's own. 

Lust rose up in the man like a storm, a blinding crash of it, all through him. As the body pressing up against him moved and moaned, he wanted almost savagely to be _inside_ all that heat and strength. He wanted to see those intent brown eyes he adored grow unfocused with pleasure while he drove his cock between the firm cheeks he slid his hands down to caress. He wanted to hear him scream and call his name, his _real_ name. 

And so he moved his hands towards the center of the body he wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything, and with a gentle fingertip brushed the tight opening he found there: a question, urgent and yet tender. 

"Uggghhh!" The sound the Artist made was not entirely pleasant. And Picard raised his head with concern to stare into the expressive face. "You can't. I can't let you." 

Contritely, Picard withdrew his hands, though he slid them up that body to keep the warm strength close. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. 

"No, no." The man shook his head and looked both wildly aroused and horribly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have...but when you dreamed of me, I couldn't resist. And it felt so wonderful. I couldn't stay away." 

Before Picard could ask for explanations, he was suddenly on an archeological dig in Egypt, in the 1920s, leading a team of archeologists who were investigating the Valley of the Kings, and looking at the stars. 

"You just don't see them this way anywhere but in the desert." 

Yes, he remembered it clearly now, standing there in the chill wind of the desert night, too excited to sleep, too wound up thinking about opening the tomb to relax. 

"I can think of a way to help us relax," that sensuous voice suggested. Then a tongue was tracing the contours of Jean-Luc's ear and a pair of arms was wrapping around him. He leaned back against that strong, warm body, and sighed. 

Yes, he recognized this dream. His dream. And yet still he wasn't remembering everything. He wasn't remembering the owner of the body he leaned back against. 

"I knew you before that dream?" he asked now, looking into the same face from his dream, now in _this_ dream. 

"I was in another galaxy," the man said, "watching a hive of rugch beetles form one of their trap-colonies. The queen had a slight mutation which was allowing her to lay almost twice as many eggs as is normal, and I wanted to know whether the colony would accept her offspring completely or thin out the hive and then...all of the sudden..." A look of joy spread across that incredibly expressive face, and Picard felt his heart, mechanical as it was, constricting in response. 

The smell of desert blossoms mingled with the stale sweat of slumbering workers, the men who would help them dig the tomb out from centuries of sand. The stars seemed bright enough to read by. Those strong arms held him tighter, and an erection pressed into his hip. 

"How I wanted you," the voice said in his ear, caressing him as he looked into the universe. "And for this incredible moment you wanted me back." 

"I still do," Picard said quietly. "I love you." 

The body against his winced. "Don't say that! You'll only hate me for it later." 

"I won't," the captain said with confidence. 

Then they were standing atop a cliff. Below them a village lay as smoking rubble. His lover was tall and strong with the smell of blood and victory about him like an ermine cloak. 

"So in my real life you're someone that I know and started to want, subconsciously. If you were in another galaxy, I suppose you're not a member of my crew. You must be someone I've met during my explorations. Some sort of lifeform the ship has had contact with." 

The man simply nodded, and Picard looked around. "I was reading a book..." He turned and stared at the man now sharply, feeling his own twinge of pain. "So, was this just a distraction for you? I wanted you and you decided to play along?" 

Pillows. Piles of them. Velvet and silk and satin and suede and brushed cotton and something that looked and felt like warm liquid silver. He lay naked among them, on his stomach, his body covered in warm oil, strong hands moving over his back. 

"I love you," that warm voice soothed from behind him. "I've loved you for years. I've wanted you since we met, though it took me quite a while to realize just what I wanted. But I never thought you could be interested in me, not in this way. Not like...this..." 

Fingers now worked lower on his back and teased the bottom of his spine. Picard moaned softly and spread his legs, just as he had before, inviting more touches. Everything felt so _good._ He groaned and arched his back slightly. 

The hands moving over him quivered, and a gentle weight was pressing the pillows down between his legs. "Ohhhh, don't do that, Jean-Luc. You have no _idea_ what you look like right now." 

The urgency returned now to Picard's body, hot and tight and almost maddening, but now the shape of that urgency had changed. Perhaps, if he weren't going to be allowed to be inside his lover... 

"Don't you want me?" he asked, allowing a faintly teasing note into his voice. 

"Uggghhh!" that voice said again, with the same frustration he'd heard before. Picard tried to turn over. 

And was wrapping his lover in his arms and legs as they hung weightless in the combat simulation. The zero-gee combat suit was uncomfortably tight against his erection, but his lover's body was so warm and alive and _real._

He pressed forward eagerly for a long, deep, impossibly sweet kiss. He ground his hips now against the bulge he felt under the other's suit. 

"I know you want me," he murmured as he gently ended the kiss. Somehow, on his own he was easily now remembering being wrapped in red bands of energy. A coil around his cock, others teasing his nipples and anus. "We've already made love. You've pleasured me..." He thought of waking the next morning, in his _real_ life, laying there naked on the bed and displaying himself. "Didn't you see me thanking you?" Another memory, a dream this time, of a hot and throbbing cock found under the hem of a toga and fondled as they crouched in a dark out building. "And I've pleasured you." He slid a gloved hand down to his lover's hip and caressed his way towards the smooth center of the suit. 

And all the dreams were gliding through his mind now: the opera box, the despotic pharaoh, chocolate fondue, chaining himself to his own bed as a present, racquetball at the club, Dixon Hill and the Cambridge Orrery. 

"The anomaly," he asked, standing now in the dorsal observation lounge while the gold-jewel pattern of the anomaly swirled and twisted and shone outside the window, "you made it for me after the first dream?" 

His lover nodded, his naked form glowing gold, his eyes shining darkly with love. "I didn't think flowers would be quite enough." 

"To catch me?" 

"To catch your attention." Sadness flowed into his brown eyes. "I'm not likely to catch you." 

Picard took a step forward. "You have caught --" 

"Enough!" his lover snapped, holding up a hand that shook just slightly. "I'm just not this much of a masochist." 

Bright light. A chamber of hatred and horror. Malformed, diseased, half-insane spectators laughing scornfully. 

"This is not an illusion or a hallucination," Troi told him quietly. "This is real." 

Picard looked around. Tasha and Data were with him as well. He had to protect his new crew. He had to justify the expense and ceremony which invested the Enterprise with the name of "flagship." He had to confront this dangerous new entity. At least he had thought to separate the ship. 

And then the judge was brought into the court on his chair. Data remarked that they already knew him. 

"Yes," Picard murmured, standing up. He did know the judge. 

"Oh, God." 

He closed his eyes and wished himself awake. It really was that simple. And the dreams disappeared from before his eyes, though not from his memory. He could recall every moment now, every feeling, every lie. 

He opened his eyes to his bedroom and looked around. Gold light from the anomaly shown off his bare skin. Yes, he'd gone to bed naked, knowing he'd probably awaken covered in his own semen, gasping through another post-coital loss of his dream lover. 

His bare feet slapped the floor as he stood and quickly retrieved his robe from his closet. He tied the belt firmly and turned towards the window, even now astonished at the beauty beyond it. 

Even now having to clear his throat quietly before he said the name that had so completely changed his life: 

"Q." 

He waited, refusing to say it again. 

"Mon Capitaine?" 

Tall, dark-haired, with brown eyes and full lips and that incredibly expressive voice that's timbre seemed to linger in the room long after the words were spoken. 

Oh God. He still wanted Q. Badly. 

"How much have you been...responsible for what I've been feeling?" 

Q's eyes glinted dangerously. "Are you accusing me of manipulating you emotionally? Of using my powers to make you feel --" 

This time Picard held up his hand, and it shook just slightly as well. "No. No. If you were willing to use your powers that way we'd never have had a real conversation." 

Q looked slightly mollified. "Correct, Picard." 

"You say you wanted me soon after we met --" 

"I wanted you the _second_ we met," Q hissed at him. 

Picard felt himself flush slightly, then more deeply as Q smiled. It wasn't a cruel smile. In fact, it looked incongruously tender. 

"So if you wanted me," Picard plowed on, "you could have just wished me into doing...things." He took a deep breath while Q's smile faded. "You didn't, and so I assume that you haven't. However, these haven't simply been my dreams." 

Q shrugged, looking off slightly, his eyes eventually sliding to the window and glowing like honey in the golden light. "The first one was completely you," he said quietly. "I just entered into it and let you do everything. When you started waking up, I was deeply tempted to see if I couldn't stretch things out just a bit further...but I didn't. And then when you woke up, you forgot your dream, just like you always forget your dreams, and I was going to leave and then..." Q took a breath and Picard could tell it wasn't steady or easy. "You started touching yourself." 

Jean-Luc flushed hot and wanted to hide his face. He wanted to scream at Q for spying on him. He wanted to...listen to Q and figure out what was really going on. 

"I've seen you do that before," Q told the window. "I've had to. You do it all the time, getting through your lonely life, and, frankly, there's little in your life I haven't watched." Q laughed suddenly, a hard, painful sound. "Actually, I have skipped over some times when you weren't alone. I made myself look at first, trying to get it into my thick head that you weren't interested in me that way, that you would never be interested in me _that_ way. And then I just stopped, because it hurt...and I just ended up hating them, like I ended up hating Vash. 

"I didn't even realize it at first, that I was taking her places designed to make her angry or uncomfortable, that I was crowding her and spoiling her fun. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed watching her rant. I was rather cruel to her, actually." 

Q looked at him suddenly, earnestly, as though he were looking for approval. "I made it up to her, though. She was going to be executed for theft on Ya'brel-Atax VI, and I got her out of there, without her even knowing it was me." 

"You seem to be straying from the point, Q." 

"Do you want me to say I'm sorry that I watched you jerk off while you were trying to remember a dream about me? I can't. I'm not sorry. It was just about the most erotic thing that's ever happened to me. The only things I can think that top it are wrapping you up in energy and making you come, and watching you taste your own semen while you thought over the revelation that your dream lover was a man." 

Q broke off suddenly and chuckled, shifting slightly on his feet and looking away again. "I'm getting excited now, thinking about it." 

"How much did you direct my dreams?" 

"I didn't. I never did. _You_ chose the scenarios. I just joined in. I said what I felt and reacted to your leads. And, may I point out, I didn't go nearly as far as you were willing for me to go." 

"Only in my dreams, Q." 

Q looked suddenly dangerous again. "I know that, Mon Capitaine. I _never_ forgot it." 

Picard looked away, unable to bear this. He'd never exposed himself to another as he had to his dream lover, and now that lover was Q. Was he devastated? Was he embarrassed? Had he any more respect for himself? What the hell did he feel? 

He found he was looking at the anomaly. So beautiful. Gold lace the size of a small solar system and jewels the size of moons. And yet with that enormity still there could be found such subtlety of shades and shapes. And the precision of the movement, the grace of each line. 

"It's perfect," he said. "Did you really make it? I mean, is it all you?" 

"Yes and no," Q answered quietly. "It's based on something, but other than that it's all me. All the Eschers, they're things I made as I thought of you." 

Again, Picard raised a hand. "Q, I..." He turned away, suddenly unable to deal with all of this. " _Why?_ " 

"I've told you..." 

"You created all that just to get me into bed with you?" 

"No," Q replied and there was such sorrow in his voice that Picard had to turn and look at him. "Listen to yourself, Jean-Luc, and remember what you were saying to me not ten minutes ago. When has this been just about getting into bed with you?" He clenched his fists, arms to his side, obviously keeping himself from any other motion. "You said you love me." 

If the words had come out in any other way, Picard might have been able to maintain some distance. If Q had accused, or insisted, or even whined, it would have been easy. Instead, he spoke with a kind of resigned weariness that tore at Picard. Q had, by his tone of voice, expected this, expected Picard not to believe him, not to want him. And he'd done what he had done anyway. 

Picard sighed. He had told Q, his Artist, that he loved him, and he had meant it. But there was more to it than that and Picard couldn't ignore the pressure of his duties. 

"Is it love that motivates you?" he asked quietly. "Is it love that made you do something that compromised my principles?" 

"What?" 

"Your anomaly, your 'flowers,' has had a profound influence on my negotiations with the Prytt." 

"I was afraid you were going to say that." 

Picard felt a sharp burst of anger wash over him. In fact, everything he was feeling seemed to be sharp, as if his emotions were operating on overdrive. "Then _why,_ " he snapped, "did you do something that you _knew_ would upset me?" 

Q shook his head. "It's not like that...not exactly. Don't you remember that he said he was getting tired of the whole paranoia routine? Have a little more faith in yourself, Jean-Luc; you two would have found your common ground sooner or later." 

"That's not enough!" Picard yelled. "What about the Escherite? You're interfering with the Federation too." 

"Look, Jean-Luc," Q snapped back. "I know you want to be mad at me, and you may even have cause to be, but give me credit for some intelligence. The Escherite was _there_ before I came along. You'd have found it eventually." 

Picard lost the thread of Q's words right after the entity said something about him wanting to be mad. Was that it? He _did_ have a right to be angry; Q had invaded his privacy in a fashion that Picard had had no defense against. By the moral codes of most telepathic societies, Q had engaged in harassment, if not actual rape. Well, maybe that was a little harsh, but still... 

Aware that Q was staring at him, Picard tried to recall the entity's words. "Perhaps," he replied, thinking about the Escherite. "I can't think right now. This is all too...It's too much for me to take in and be calm about." 

"I'm not feeling all that calm myself, you know," Q said, then scowled. "I knew this was a bad idea." 

And then, with a flash of light, he was gone. 

Picard ran a hand over his head and sighed. His mind was buzzing, filled with a thousand details. He could remember still everything about the dreams and he found himself going red in the face at the thought of some of them. Had those really been _his_ desires playing themselves out across the canvas of his mind every night? It was a scary thought, because he'd been so vulnerable in those dreams, admitting to fantasies that he'd never shared with anyone. He had to accept that his subconscious had _known_ that he was dreaming about Q, and if he accepted that, what did it say about his needs? 

He couldn't believe that he'd actually dreamed of chaining himself to a bed for his dream...for Q. Had his brain been telling him that he trusted Q that much? Trusted him enough to do something he'd always wanted to do but had never found a partner with whom he was willing to be that vulnerable? But he couldn't trust _Q_ that much, could he? He thought about wanting to fuck Q, about how he had felt as they lay on Dixon Hill's bed and he slid his fingers down to brush them... 

Oh, God, just thinking about it was making him hard. As he thought about lying on those pillows and practically asking to be fucked, he got even harder. It would be so easy to reach down and...what? Bring himself off while Q watched? Was Q watching? And what was wrong with him that the mere thought of masturbating while Q watched was making his breath grow ragged? Would he ask Q to share his dreams for the rest of the night? Jean-Luc gulped hard. 

_Enough,_ he told himself, walking into the living room and requesting a glass of cold water from the replicator. He took it to the sofa and sat down and tried to think a little more rationally. What about Q? What did all of this mean to the entity? For some reason he thought about the two men in the old attic and wondered if that were the closest to reality that he'd gotten. Of course it wasn't all that close; those men had had a lifetime of friendship to build on. 

"Sometimes I've gone for a few hours without thinking of you." The words rang in his memory and he wondered if Q had really meant them. He thought about how distressed _that_ Jean-Luc had been when he realized how much time they'd wasted being friends. He could almost feel it, an emotional urgency mixed with a powerful physical urgency that had only been temporarily assuaged by that strong hot hand stroking his cock... 

This would never do; he _had_ to either deal with his erection or stop thinking about all those nights of sex. _I could do it, right here and he'd watch me. And it would be so good, because it would be real..._ His hand, which had begun to move, seemingly of its own accord, stopped. _And I'd be using him,_ he told himself in disgust. 

"Q." 

Q appeared with his usual flash of light and Picard's breath caught as he looked at the entity. Q was as he had been at the opera in Prague, resplendent in plum colored velvet trimmed with silver cording, his long brown hair caught back in a queue. "I really liked this one," he said, looking down at the court shoes with their elaborate buckles. "Why Human men have let their clothes get so _boring,_ I don't know." 

"Oh, I don't know about that," Picard replied almost automatically. "I rather liked that black and burgundy suit you had on at the holo-film premiere party." 

"Hmph," Q snorted, leaning against the bulkhead near a window. "So good of you to cast me as a totally jealous queen." 

Picard looked down at his hands. "I felt bad about checking out poor Lt. Li." 

"You shouldn't; you were far more discreet than you thought you were being." 

"What now, Q?" Picard asked softly. 

"Well, you might start by telling me how _you_ feel. I think I've made my intentions quite clear, and that bulge under your robe isn't really evening the score." 

"It tells you more than I knew a few minutes ago." 

Q sighed and snapped up an ornate opera chair in which he gracefully sat, crossing his legs to show off one elaborate and sparkling shoe. Picard found himself running his eyes over all that smooth, warm velvet, and his palms tingled at the distant memory of what it had been like to touch him. He remembered the way his lover had been so surprised at his passion, and so pleasured... 

"I want you so badly I can't seem to think past it," Picard confessed at a volume just over a whisper. 

"Sorry, but that's not quite enough," Q said tightly. "And frankly, I find it infuriating that you could offer your heart so completely to the 'Artist' of the anomaly and the mysterious dream lover you couldn't even remember in the morning, and then find it so impossible to care for me." Genuine rage was coloring the entity's words, and Picard became aware of enormous power held in check. He'd never before been as aware of just what Q _was_ as at this moment. Starfleet training was trying to kick in, telling him to protect his ship, his race, and his own personal well-being from such a dangerously empowered lifeform. Sheer lust, however, and whatever else he was feeling were keeping that training at bay. 

"Almost ten years we've known each other," Q went on. "Ten years where I tormented you a bit, I admit, but also where I've helped you. I've saved your life, your Humanity's existence, your Starfleet's ideals...Do you know my fellow Q now refer to me as the 'Human's Q?' I've become quite the joke to them all." 

"How would I know that? I know almost nothing about you." 

Q turned his intent gaze to Picard with almost tangible heat. "You know more about me -- the real _me_ \-- than anyone alive." 

Picard felt his stomach drop and his cock get even harder, almost to the point of pain. He might come, right here, just from being looked at like that. "I think I could say the same about what you know of me." 

"Then why can you trust me only when I'm a dream...or an anomaly?" Q's eyes became sad again, and Picard almost rushed into those strong warm arms to drive that look away. "I'll never forget that, you know. You sitting there on your bed, legs spread, naked, offering yourself up like the prize you are. But I knew, when you realized who I was..." 

Q's voice trailed off when Picard's hands went to the tie of his robe. He had to do this quickly, and yet he couldn't move quickly. He was shaking, hard, and though all he had to do was grasp one end of the belt and pull, his fingers fumbled and the tie almost tangled. 

But then it was undone, and he shook harder as he slowly pulled the opening of his robe apart. 

"What...?" Q strangled out, his eyes trapped by the sight of exposed skin. Picard's thighs were pale, as was the skin over his chest and then down along the concave curves of his stomach. 

And then Jean-Luc spread his knees slightly, and Q saw the flushed and glistening tip, the long smooth shaft, the tight sac, the slight pulse of his blood. 

"I...told you," Q whispered. "That's not...enough." 

Picard was listening to Q intently, but he was also watching those dark brown eyes staring at his cock. The anger the entity had radiated was being replaced by an almost hypnotic wonder, and abruptly he looked simply like a man in seventeenth-century aristocratic garb gazing at his aroused lover. Picard wasn't sure what had created the change, though surely it had been aided in part by Q's now overt erection. 

"I want you," Picard said again, his voice so deep it seemed someone else's, a voice of someone who was used to saying such things. "My whole body wants you." And now the voice was taking him over, making him someone the voice demanded him to be. "Do you want to watch me?" 

Q breathed hard in response. 

Picard moved enough to let the robe slip back off his shoulders as he spread his legs a bit wider. He was on fire now, lost in the delirium of what he was about to do, vaguely aware that later he would be shocked at his own behavior. He had done this before in a dream, but those sensations were pale shadows, and every second now was sharp and clear and stretched to almost the breaking point. 

He didn't suppress his own gasp as he brought his right hand to his left nipple and pinched it just slightly. His left hand trailed lightly over his stomach, feeling the warmth of his own blood as his heartbeat roared in his ears. With his eyes locked on Q's gaze, he slowly moved his hands to his cock. It wouldn't take much, only a few strokes, and he would come. 

"No," Q grated out, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together. "No, this isn't enough. Damn you, Picard." 

The man groaned in frustration. He couldn't come without Q. 

Quickly, he was up and crossing the room in rushed steps before he knelt beside the chair, placing one hand on the warmth of the gilded wood where Q's arms had been a moment ago. The entity's eyes jerked open and stared at him almost with fear. 

Picard found he couldn't speak, couldn't find words in his head to put into his own mouth. Instead, his hands, almost on their own, went gently to the velvet of Q's pants as it stretched tightly over his thighs. Q's eyes rolled shut and he groaned at that warm, gliding caress. Up and down the outside, then the inside, and now moving towards the center. One hand gently smoothed over the bulge there. 

"Uggghhh!" Q grabbed his hand and pushed it away, then stood up from his chair and stomped to the window, staring at his own little artwork while he got his breathing back under control. The chair and his costume flashed out, but instead of the uniform Picard expected, he replaced the fancy clothes with plain black garb, as though they were not clothes at all, just something to keep him covered. 

Picard stood up from his kneeling crouch and waited, his erection subsiding dramatically, the heaviness of his blood pulling at him now more than his arousal. Reality was returning in a cold wave, and he was feeling more than a little horrified. 

And a little angry. 

"You come into my dreams," he muttered. "You create something which completely disrupts my mission and my life. You wait until I'm in love with you, then reveal yourself and say it's not enough!" 

Q twirled, his eyes full of scorn, the plain image he made now framed by the splendor of the golden orrery outside. "But you're not in love with me, are you? 'Q the liar! Q the misanthrope!' I'm 'next of kin to chaos' and 'not to be trusted!' Have I missed anything?" 

"'Q the incredible pain in the ass!' -- No, wait!" 

Frowning, Q paused, his hand half-raised in preparation for snapping. 

"What are you going to do?" Picard demanded. "Flash out? Snap me to my bridge looking like this? Destroy the solar system? Don't you understand? There are no half-measures with you, nothing tentative, no small steps to take! To trust you at all is to trust you completely!" The memory of being chained to his own bed swept through him and settled into his cock, which grew hard once again. "To be known by you even a little," he continued, undaunted, "is to be known completely, in every detail. To love you at all is to love you heart and body and soul. You would _own_ me, Q! And I wouldn't rest until I owned you too. As much as part of me wants that, craves that, _needs_ that...it's too much to promise so easily. It would mean resigning my commission and moving away from everything I care about so it won't get hurt if you suddenly throw a fit." 

"I wouldn't _do_ that!" 

"Like you didn't do that with the Borg? I say 'no thanks' to your offer to join the crew, and you -- " 

"I saved your precious Earth! I showed you what was coming! You even admitted to Guinan it was what you needed!" 

"But is that really why you did it, Q? Did you think that all out before you snapped your fingers and tossed us into harm's way?" 

"Do you know all the possible consequences of your actions before you act?" 

"I don't have the sort of power or abilities that demand I do know!" 

"Bullshit! When you hike through the forest, stepping on ant hills and...beetles, you have no idea what havoc you're causing, what sort of lives you're changing." 

"I also don't ask one of those beetles to love me!" 

Q crossed his arms and calmed his tone. "How about your precious "first contact" then? Do you know the outcome, guaranteed, of everything you do when you wander into town and introduce yourself? Many a starship captain has asked some backwards alien to love him, believe me." 

"Beetle or backwards alien, Q. I'm still hardly your equal." 

"Oh, bullshit redux, Mon Capitaine. If you really felt I wasn't your match, you wouldn't keep distracting me with that gorgeous erection. You've known since you solved the mystery of Farpoint and made that bet with me about Riker that you're not afraid of stepping into the ring with me. Do you think I want you as an enemy? You got me tossed out of the Continuum by luring your first officer back from godhood! I may know everything, but somehow...you do more with what you know. And then there's your bravery, your curiosity, your strength, your compassion, your ability to appreciate the world around you which -- I have to tell you -- outshines what you find in the average Q by about a million super-novae." 

Q suddenly began to pace, his arms still crossed, his gait a little lopsided from the pressure between his legs. "So I can blow up suns with a thought, big deal! It can't get me what I want. You could blow up a sun yourself, if you had hung on to the Tox Uthat or made notes on Soren's little weapon. You've traveled through time, solved the puzzle of a temporal anomaly or two, and with none of the cushy guarantees my people rely on like breathing. When I spent a day as a Human I completely folded...'hardly my equal' -- give me a break!" 

"I doubt I'd do much better spending a day as a Q." 

Q turned with a smile at the rueful tone, but his next quip was lost in a rise of hot lust at what he saw. 

"So beautiful," he whispered, his gaze dropped to that perfectly sculpted cock. "So _fucking_ beautiful I can't stand it." 

"Either do something about it or leave," Picard growled. "I can't stand this anymore either." 

"Do you love me, Jean-Luc?" 

Q standing in judgment on Humanity. Q standing next to the a pile of dusty boxes, tears in his eyes as he confessed to thirty-two years and seven months of unrequited desire. Q casually discussing Amanda's execution. Q willingly playing the role of a slave to be sucked off by his pharaoh. Q watching as the Borg killed eighteen of his crew. Q not fucking him when he asked him to because he knew Picard would regret it later. Q touching him. Q kissing him. Q helping him with the temporal anomaly. Q licking Grand Marnier off his chest. Q eating chicken while the executioner got ready to chop off his head. Q too self-absorbed to care about Data's health. Q looking at him with love. 

Right now. So much love in those dark brown eyes. The end of so much in his life if he returned that love. 

"I don't know." 

Q sighed and turned again to the window. 

"I want to say I do," Picard said, forcing it out, "just so you'll touch me. That's how much of my pride you've taken." 

He walked to Q's side and looked out the window with him quietly. The golden bands outside were more beautiful than ever now, turning in their precision like a universe in miniature. 

"Yes, I love the Artist," he murmured. "And I love my dream lover. But you're so much more than that. It's as though I'm being asked to love a community instead of a person." 

"I'm just Q, Jean-Luc, with the same many voices inside me you and your Kurlan Naiskos share. I get conflicted and uncertain, just like everyone else you know. But I can tell you that everything I am is in love with you." 

"And I have to feel the same way before you'll touch me?" 

"I got spoiled. You loved me so much in your dreams." 

"It was easy because it wasn't real." 

Q frowned and looked at him. "What if you awake from this and find it's only a dream? Will this lose its reality then?" 

Picard sighed and closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head, sagging slightly. "That's what I mean about trusting you, Q. You could do that. You could make everything I know a lie or a dream or nothing at all. How can I love someone I'm afraid of?" 

"I can't be your genie, Jean-Luc, using my powers at your discretion." 

"I know that! Oh, the more we talk the more impossible this becomes!" 

"Is that a 'no,' then?" 

Picard's eyes opened and grew wild as he contemplated a life without his dream lover, without his Artist, without...yes, without Q. 

God, he could see it so easily. The anomaly would disappear, the ship would resume course, and then...all those years, until he died. No one to love as he had loved...truly and deeply and in reality _loved_ Q. 

"No! I mean, no, it's not a 'no.'" Something inside Picard finally just made the decision for him: "I'll do it. I'll resign. Will can finally be captain. Take me far from here and we'll work at loving each other. I do, Q. I do love you." 

Q stared at Picard as incredulous triumph rolled through him. He had said it. He said he loved him. 

And nothing anyone could have said to Q would have made those multiple voices inside him react more strongly or in greater opposition. As much as Q was dumbfounded with happiness, part of him was furious. Picard offering Q his love looked like Picard offering himself up to the Borg Queen in return for Data: sacrificing himself for some noble cause. 

Of course, in this instance the "noble cause" was being with Q, which again flattered him enormously, but... 

No. He couldn't do that to Picard, he thought, realizing anew just how much he did love this Human starship captain. 

"You wouldn't be you if you did that," Q said. "I would still love you, but you wouldn't love yourself. You'd get bitter and think constantly of what you gave up." 

Picard shook his head. "I wouldn't think at all if you would just touch me." 

Q laughed very softly, smiling a hurt little smile. "You know, I probably could just spend the next century or so lying on top of you, making you feel so good you never did think of it. But it would still be _there,_ hanging over everything we did." 

Picard groaned. He'd almost come just from the image created by those few words, and as it was his breathing was shallow and his whole body was throbbing. He had thought he couldn't take this anymore, and yet somehow he was enduring. Would he die when Q finally touched him? Would Q ever touch him? 

"I'm willing to pay that price," Picard whispered, all those long lonely years so ready to wrap around him and freeze him back into what he was. "I've been captain a long time." 

"And you'll be captain a long while longer. The hell with Riker, anyway. Let him get his own ship. I want you to have both me and the Enterprise, both my love and your enjoyment of your life. I can't diminish you like that." 

"And I can't ask my crew and everyone I work with, every race I meet, every mission I command to trust themselves to you. Being with you would change everything, don't you understand that?" 

"Of course I do, but it doesn't have to change things for the worse. Don't you think I can keep from --" 

"Q," Picard groaned, and simply pushed himself forward, pressing himself against that long, strong body, seeking the warmth and love he knew was there. All Q had to do was touch him back, just a little, and any price was worth it. 

"Trust me just a little while," Q gasped out as his hands went to Picard's naked body and began to touch him: so soft and warm and strong and perfect. "Just don't resign anything until this mission is over. Promise me that and I'll make you come now harder than you've ever come. Stick with it until Arlic is back on Kes-Prytt, and I'll make love with you every night, all night. I promise I won't interfere with him or your mission in any way. Trust me just that much and I'll do whatever you want, as many times as you want." 

Picard had lost the ability to think that all through. He'd been hard, it seemed, for eternity. He knew they were only talking about a few days here, if Q really did stay out of it, and if he didn't, then the deal was void anyway. 

"All right. I promise. Hurry." 

"I love you," Q told him just before his head lowered to let his lips join in their first "real" kiss. 

"I love you," Picard told him back as he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss instantly, needing to taste and explore the warm sweetness of Q's tongue. The pressure and feel of Q's lips were perfect, just as he'd dreamed, and the arms pressing him close were strong without making him feel weaker. 

In fact, he was flying, his entire body exploding with joy. He thought he might be coming, until Q's clothing disappeared and his erection strained harder as it touched that warm, soft skin. 

"Just hold me," Picard moaned into his mouth, "and I'll come." 

"Shhh," Q soothed, moving away from his mouth to nibble on his ear. Picard's hips bucked slightly in response. "Relax. We own each other now, don't we? That means your cock is all mine, doesn't it?" 

"Yours." 

Picard found himself being led gently backwards, and went along with it until he was reclining once again on the couch. Q stood before him, and the man thought to enjoy looking at him a split-second after the entity had dropped to his knees between Picard's spread legs. His head bowed, and light kisses were tickling the insides of his thighs. Jean-Luc groaned and felt his climax rising up. He closed his eyes and felt his entire body gathering together. If Q kissed him _there,_ that would do it. 

"Shhh," Q said again. "Open your eyes." 

Struggling, Picard managed it, and gasped. Directly before him spun and shone the golden circles Q had made, suspended outside the window as though hung on the wall of the universe. Q had made that for him, and the awe that made him feel pushed his climax gently out of reach. 

Warmth. Wet and soft and moving against him now over his painfully hard cock. 

Q had him in his mouth. 

Picard screamed and couldn't help putting his fingers in that dark hair. So warm and soft to his fingers, like Q's tongue on his... 

"Ugghhhh!" he said as Q took him in deep, all the way, his lips pressing into his hair and against his sac. He was sucking hard, then releasing and using his tongue again, then sucking. One hand was caressing his testicles, and the other traveled smoothly up his chest and pinched his left nipple hard. 

Picard's whole body undulated as Q worked between his legs and his eyes drank in the wonder of gold and jewels, and then he came, screaming and shooting deeply down Q's throat, and his lover stayed with him and touched him, drawing everything out, enfolding him in perfections of sensations harder and deeper than any he'd known, dark and hot and overwhelming. 

When the man's body slumped on the cushions and breathed quietly, Q let the spent organ slide out of his mouth. Gently, he kissed the soft skin, smelling and tasting all that lovely cum, before he turned to sit with Picard on the sofa and stare thoughtfully at the orrery -- for that's truly what it was -- he'd made for Jean-Luc's enjoyment. 

With a snap, he cleaned Picard up and got rid of his own bothersome erection. Jean-Luc was out for the night now. There would be time to satisfy Q's need later. 

Over and over and over again. 

With a smile, Q wrapped the man he loved in his arms and thought about the task ahead of him. Only a few days to work with here, though it would be a few more than Picard realized yet it would be. Somehow Q had to convince him that the love they shared now made Q as devoted as the captain was to the man's goals. Somehow he had to earn a trust beyond a lover's trust. Somehow, he had to get past what he recognized intellectually, at least, was a legitimate worry on Picard's part. 

Of course, the good captain had it wrong. It wasn't Q's powers that scared Jean-Luc. When it came to handling that sort of thing Picard was better than Wotan giving up the seductive but cursed ring of the Nibelung. 

No, it was being loved that Picard feared. He knew when he finally gave his heart to another there was a genuine possibility that it would overwhelm him, enslave him completely. Fearing that, he was willing to risk himself on that love, but not to risk the welfare of others. Thus, he wanted to sacrifice everything to be with Q so that he could then continue to love without further risk. He wanted, essentially, to burn his own lands rather than watch while another invaded. 

But Picard didn't need to do that with Q. Q would never harm him. In fact, Q could help him to protect what he cherished. 

Picard felt he had been called on to make that sacrifice before, with Jenice Manheim, with Beverly Crusher, and most especially with Neela Darren. But before he had always sacrificed the relationship instead. And because these women had essentially agreed with him, the man had become trapped in this false either-or. 

That was Q's real challenge. He had to show Picard the third option. He had to show him he could love completely and still command. That he could trust someone else absolutely and still not be controlled by them. That he could compromise things for the relationship without compromising anything else. 

Which was all easy enough to figure out, and certainly something Q was willing to do all the work necessary to accomplish. But there was one very big problem: 

He didn't have the slightest idea how to do it. 

The Pharaoh's court looked stunned at the majordomo finished reading from the scroll in a loud voice. The slave who was prostrate on the floor below the dais forgot himself enough to look up at the living god for just a moment. The pharaoh looked down at him gravely, and then looked around at his courtiers. "Leave us," he commanded. 

Most of the court prostrated themselves, and then rose to back out of Pharaoh's presence, but the Captain of the Guard looked ready to argue. "Do you question the Beloved of Amen-Ra?" Pharaoh asked quietly. "The Son of Horus?" 

The Captain fell to his face before the dais and then backed away, bowing low, and leaving the Pharaoh alone with his northern slave. Or the northern freedman, slave no longer. 

"You set me free," that rich voice said as the man knelt up. 

"I couldn't keep you any longer. I couldn't live like that anymore, never knowing if you loved me only because I held your soul in my hands." 

"You are the Son of the Living Sun. You hold in your hands the souls of every person in Upper and Lower Egypt." 

Pharaoh sighed and rose from his couch, descending the dais to stand on the polished stone floor. "No, I'm not any of that. I'm just a man. A man who assumed he would live his life alone, surrounded by everything men desire and not caring for any of it. Until the day you came into my life and showed me something so precious, so valuable, that all the silver in the world could not buy it." 

The former slave reached out and touched the pharaoh's face. "I don't want all the silver in the world. I want you, Pharaoh or pauper, it doesn't matter." 

"You still want me, after the way I've been so cruel to you? It was because I was afraid, you know. Afraid of what you do to me, afraid of the way you make me vulnerable." 

"I understand. I fear you as well. You say you've set me free, but I could no more leave your side now than I could have yesterday." 

Something happened in Pharaoh's chest and, reaching out for the other man's face, he drew an unsteady breath. He cupped his hand around his lover's neck and drew him down for a kiss. As their mouths met, lips parting for each other's insistent tongues, both men moaned and Pharaoh felt himself grow hard almost instantly. Still kissing those full lips with as much passion as he could muster, he pulled at the other man's clothing, until the linen tunic fell away from that strong, lovely body. And then, startling his lover no end, the ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt dropped to his knees and began dropping light kisses on his cock. 

_Please,_ Picard thought through his dream-self's furious lust, _I want to be awake while I do this._

The moment lost its soft focus, suddenly becoming hard-edged and _real._ Picard was on his knees in front of Q, a position that should have terrified him. And yet, all he wanted to do was wrap his mouth around the gorgeous cock in front of him and give Q as much pleasure as possible. Trying to ignore his own painfully throbbing cock, he leaned forward and let his tongue brush across that soft, slick skin, almost losing himself in the utter sensuality of the moment. 

Steadying himself by reaching around to cup Q's ass in his hands, he opened his lips and took that perfect cock into his mouth. Who would have guessed that this act would be so good, would feel so right? His tongue moved over that rigid warmth and he heard a low groan. The sound encouraged him further and he moved his head forward, trying not to gag as his mouth was suddenly full of that amazing combination of silky skin and hard flesh. He was moaning with Q now, sucking and licking and doing everything he could to draw out the pleasure for his lover. 

Then, as Q's hips began to move, Jean-Luc carefully slid his fingers into the cleft of Q's ass and gently brushed that tight opening as he sucked hard on the cock in his mouth. Q yelled his name and came hard, forcing Picard to back up slightly, although he struggled to stay with his lover through the finish. And he did, thinking as he swallowed that it did taste different from, and better than, his own semen did. He knew then that he wanted to do more of this, wanted to perfect this act until he could hold Q on the edge for a long time and then make him come so hard his human body passed out. He looked up then, and smiled at his lover. 

Q looked down at that face, that beautiful face, and instantly grew hard again. Picard almost glowed and his lips were wet and shiny and his smile could have lit up the entire Alpha Quadrant. Q couldn't help himself; he dropped to his knees and shoved Picard on to the floor, covering the man's lean body with his own weight. "So beautiful..." he murmured over and over, as he rubbed his body against that sculpted chest. "Love you...so much...come with me...come all...over me..." 

Picard was moaning and gasping, grabbing at Q's arms and thrusting up against the heat of his lover. There was warm oil between them now and his cock slid against Q while Q's cock slid against him. It was like wrestling, only they were striving to pleasure rather than harm each other. The heat and the pressure built up inside Jean-Luc and when he opened his eyes and saw Q looking down at him, he came, screaming out, "I love you!" At the same time, he felt Q come, and as they both tumbled into unconsciousness, Picard knew he would never stop loving Q, regardless of what happened next. 

Picard woke up in his bed, and for one horrible moment, he thought he was alone. And then he became aware of another body in the bed with him, and the feeling that washed over him convinced him that last night's offer to resign was the right thing to do. The pain of resigning would be nothing compared to a life of waking alone. He'd been telling himself that the dream lover had been enough, but the last few mornings had shown him that he was so very tired of being alone. He thought of last night's pharaoh dream, which he could remember perfectly, and realized instantly which part of himself had been expressing itself in the dream. 

He wasn't a living god on the Enterprise, but, in a way, it was the closest he could come to being one in the real world. And that wasn't even the most important part of what he had. He had so much more: the flagship of the Federation, a list of achievements that any man would envy, a job that was the only job he'd ever wanted, and a chance to do the things he was most suited to do. Of course, no one ever had everything, and so he'd long ago decided that what he had was worth the price he'd paid for it. And now, he didn't want to pay that price anymore. It was that simple; he no longer wanted to wake up alone. 

All of this flashed through his mind in a split-second, and then he was rolling over to see those dark eyes looking back at him. "Morning, Darling," Jean-Luc said before leaning over to kiss Q. 

"Mmmm," Q murmured after the kiss, as Picard began to kiss his neck. "You're stepping on my lines." 

"Self-defense," Picard said, nipping lightly at his lover's collarbone. 

"Attack while your opponent is distracted with happiness?" Q paused to moan. "Sneaky bastard." 

Picard chuckled. "How could you say such a thing?" he asked, and leaned down suddenly to nip at one of Q's nipples. 

"Ohhhh..." 

Q shuddered and Jean-Luc smiled to himself, as he scooted down a little on the bed. Leaning over Q's broad chest, he began to alternate between his lover's nipples, while Q moaned and thrashed under him. It was wildly exciting to be able to cause this intense a response in someone and that thought made Jean-Luc lift his head to look down at Q. "I can do this to you?" he asked. "My touch makes you feel this good?" 

"You have no idea..." Q said, his voice husky. He reached for Jean-Luc's hand and pulled it down. "Feel that?" 

"Mmmm hmmm." "That" was Q's rather prominent erection and Picard smiled as he sat up and looked down at it and stroked it. He would have expected it to be like touching himself, but, even though the physiology was the same, touching Q was much more exciting. "How is it," he asked, deliberately keeping his voice as light as his touch, "that touching you does more for me than touching myself?" 

"Don't...know...ohhhh..." Q moaned. "Please...Jean-Luc..." 

Jean-Luc got a firmer grip and exerted a little more pressure. He found himself liking the sense of power he felt at the way Q responded to _his_ touch, and he was also enjoying the sheer tactile sensation of this simple act. His fingers glided along the slick, smooth skin and he experimented a bit, trying to map out the hot spots. He felt himself falling into a pleasant state of detached arousal; while part of him wanted to fall on Q and come all over him, a larger part of him was quite content to sit here and tease his lover into a state of total frustration. 

"Please..." Q moaned, his hips twisting as he tried to encourage Jean-Luc to do more. "I'm...ahhhh...so close...please?" 

"You want it?" 

"Yes!" Q yelled. "Oh, Jean-Luc...let...me...oh please..." 

"You know," Picard said quietly, noticing that Q quieted and seemed to be hanging on his every word. "Someday I'm going to want to tie you down and do this." 

Q screamed and, arching his hips off the bed, came hard. Picard kept stroking, determined to wring every last bit of pleasure out of his lover. He was breathing almost as heavily as Q was when he finally stopped touching him, and his own cock was aching in an agony of need. 

Q sat up, and, noticing Jean-Luc's state of intense arousal, reached out and took hold of the man's cock. Picard instantly leaned back onto his hands, offering himself up as he had after Q had used the image of the anomaly to make love to him. Q leaned forward, stroking firmly, and smiled into Jean-Luc's wide eyes. 

"You can tie me up, Jean-Luc," the entity murmured. "On one condition." 

"Yes?" Picard gasped out, as he thrust hard into that firm grasp. 

"After you finally let me come, you have to put this," Q's hand gripped Picard's cock a little more firmly, "inside me and _fuck_ me." 

Those words, spoken in that voice, were enough; Jean-Luc let out a loud groan and came, shuddering as Q made it last as long as possible. Finally, spent and shaking, he collapsed with his back on the bed. Q thought them both clean and moved to take Picard in his arms. They lay together quietly for a while and then Picard opened his eyes and looked out the bedroom window at the anomaly. "So beautiful," he murmured gently. 

Then Picard noticed something. "It's not moving," he said, turning to look at Q. 

"Neither is the clock, Jean-Luc." 

"Oh," Picard said. He smiled. "I suppose I'll have to get used to that." 

Q was suddenly worried. Here was everything he wanted: Jean-Luc saying that he loved Q, that he _wanted_ Q, and that he could learn to get used to those powers he claimed to be intimidated by. Why did it seem wrong? Stepping firmly on the temptation to read Picard's mind, Q sat up. 

"Just like that? No complaints about the sanctity of the timeline?" 

Picard looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "You _want_ me to complain? Q, I have to get used to who you are. It may not be easy, but I _have_ had a lifetime of adjusting to the unusual." 

He sounded faintly hurt and Q sighed. "No, Jean-Luc, of course I don't want you to be afraid of or annoyed by my powers. It's just that..." He broke off and looked shrewdly at his lover. "You don't expect this to work, do you?" Picard looked steadily back at him and Q continued. "You're trying to get used to my powers because you still think you have to resign and live with me. Damnit, Jean-Luc!" 

"I am," Picard began, sitting up, " _trying_ to deal with this. I don't know if what we're going to try here is going to work or not. I don't know if I'll be in command of this ship in a couple of hours." The steady strength in his voice made Q feel ashamed. Picard was obviously worried and nervous, but he'd made up his mind and was going to stand by his lover _and_ his decision. Having seen that same strength used against him, Q felt a little odd about trying to argue Picard out of it now. After all, maybe Picard was right. Maybe they would be better off if Jean-Luc left the trivia of commanding the Enterprise behind him. But Q didn't want to deprive Jean-Luc of anything he loved, and so he shook his head and told him so. 

"I don't want you to lose your command. It's too much a part of you, it defines you too much." 

Picard sighed. "I may not have anything to say about it." 

"And you'll just roll over and let them do that to you? You obviously think Riker is going to insist that you've been brainwashed, and you're not fit to command while you're under my pernicious influence. And you're going to agree with him." Picard opened his mouth to protest, but Q kept talking. "If you let him relieve you of command without more than a token protest, you _are_ agreeing with him." 

"Maybe I'm _not_ fit to command like this," Picard said. He gestured to his bedside table. "Part of me had to know that the alarm wasn't going off, and I didn't _care_. I was too busy making love to you and enjoying it to worry about my job." 

"So? I took us out of time and I can do that any time we need me to. Just think of it, Jean-Luc, there goes one reason for not having a lover while you're in command." He shrugged. "So a red alert happens while we're having sex, one snap of my fingers and time stops. You can calm down and make yourself presentable." 

Picard shook his head, and got out of bed. "You seem to have a much higher opinion of me than you used to. I don't know that I want a temptation like that at hand." 

Q sighed. "Jean-Luc, you're a fucking saint, and you know it. Did it ever occur to you why I didn't try to tempt _you_ the way I tempted Riker?" He held up his hands to change the subject. 

"Just promise me that you will give yourself _some_ credit? Try to explain to them what we're going to try to do in the next few days. Unless," he added bitterly, "you aren't even going to _try_ to make things work like this." 

"Why," Picard asked curiously, "does it matter so much to you? I would have thought that this was what you wanted." 

"Ironically enough, I _did_ want it once." Q gestured aimlessly and Picard tried very hard to see his lover's point. "But now...how would you feel if I offered to give up my powers and live with you as a human?" 

"Don't be absurd; you'd be miserable." 

"And I wouldn't be the Q you fell in love with." Q stared at Jean-Luc steadily. "If you walk away from the Enterprise without even a fight, you aren't the Jean-Luc Picard I fell in love with. How can I expect you to be true to what we have, if you can't be true to what you are?" 

Shaken, Picard looked at Q. He was ashamed to realize that he'd assumed that Q wanted only a part of him, only that part that had time to be the lover Q wanted. To know that he was wanted, _loved,_ for his whole self was rather overwhelming. And yet he could feel the truth of Q's words. After all, he wanted Q for everything that Q was, not just the devastatingly passionate and skillful lover, not just the incredibly talented artist, but also the infuriating creature who pushed Jean-Luc like no other person pushed him, the entity who forced him to face himself. 

"I'm...I'll do what I can," he said softly, not wanting to let Q know that he was almost afraid to hope that he could have both his career and Q. He looked at Q, and thought about how to weigh everything else against his love for the entity. If it were important to Q that he try to have it all, and if he _wanted_ it all, what was the harm in trying to get it all? He would still have Q if he failed and that was the most important thing. "I promise," he said more firmly. It was worth it just to see Q look a little less worried. 

Q nodded, knowing that Jean-Luc, having promised, would do everything to keep that promise. He watched the determination on his lover's face grow as the man got into his uniform, and suddenly Q felt a little better about all of this. He still wasn't sure how they would work this out, but he was beginning to think that they would. 

Q started time up again gently, and Picard smiled as the alarm sounded. 

"Off," the captain said, sitting to put on his shoes. 

"So, what's first?" Q asked. 

"Well, I suppose I need to tell everyone what the anomaly we've been studying for days is really about." 

"That Li was right, you mean?" 

Picard frowned. "Li thought the Eschers were the artwork of an ancient civilization." 

"That's right." 

"Li didn't think they were something you whipped up to turn my head." 

Q shrugged, snapping himself into his captain's uniform. "Same difference." 

The captain looked towards the window, then was captured once again by the beauty looming beyond it. "This is the last of them, isn't it?" 

Q smiled and looked somewhat mysterious before saying, "I finished working on it days ago. It runs itself now. You don't want me to terminate it, do you?" 

Picard thought of a hundred reasons why Q should remove the potentially hazardous distraction to his ship and crew. 

"No. It's a work of art and deserves to exist," Picard murmured. "It would be a crime to despoil it." 

"If you walk over here," Q said, rising to stand next to the bed, "I'll kiss you before we go see Riker and Troi." 

Picard frowned, his body warmed by the words even as he objected, " _We're_ not going to see them. _I'm_ going to see them." 

"Aren't I a part of this?" Q asked quietly. "Aren't I involved?" 

"They're my crew, Q." 

"And they're going to have to get used to their captain having me as his lover." Q hand up a hand. "Seriously, Jean-Luc. It's better if I'm not such a mystery anymore, don't you think? Let them ask _me_ their questions about me." 

"Presenting a united front?" 

Q answered Picard's light joking with sorrow. "You're already distancing yourself from them, thinking of them as the enemy, expecting to be hurt and rejected." 

"I'm just getting my priorities in order," Picard said evenly. With a smile curling up one side of his mouth, he walked slowly over to Q. "Surely you're not upset over my choices?" 

Q wanted to say something about choices not being necessary, but then Picard was standing up right against him, and words became far too difficult. Leaning down quickly, he had Jean-Luc in a kiss that instantly warmed him. 

How had he ever thought Human bodies to be sluggish and uninteresting? Such a wealth of sensation, unlike any he'd known, was moving through him, filling him and yet making a space inside that could be filled with nothing but the love of the man around whom he was wrapping his arms so tightly he worried that he might be hurting him. 

But when Picard moaned into his mouth, there was nothing but pleasure in his voice. 

That voice... 

Oh, the emptiness in his body was starting to become physical. Years ago, when he'd first caught himself wondering what it would be like to feel Picard thrust hard inside his body, he'd almost destroyed a solar system out of sheer embarrassment. And now, somehow, knowing the man loved him, he could whisper: 

"Please. Sometime today. Fuck me, Jean-Luc." 

Picard's body shuddered and held him more tightly. "Yesss," he hissed, leaving Q's lips, which instantly missed the feel of his mouth, and nibbling along the column of his neck. "After I talk with Troi and Riker." 

"After _we_ talk with them." Q reached down and sucked lightly on the tip of the man's ear, very gently catching his teeth on the erogenous zone he saw there. 

"Ohhhh." Jean-Luc sucked hard now at Q's neck and dropped his hands to Q's ass, pulling him in tight. They were both getting hard again. 

_I could ask him to stop time. He'd do it and then..._

Picard gently pulled himself away from Q's neck and breathed deeply, his head resting on Q's chest. 

"Duty calls," Q whispered. 

"No. I just...want to deal with my crew first." 

Q shivered slightly, pleased in a way he didn't feel like explaining, and then kissed Picard lightly on the top of his head. 

"You know, you really should have some breakfast." 

"Some coffee, perhaps." He tried to concentrate on the mundane while his cock was pressed against the lover he'd been looking for his whole life. 

But then he laughed and let go, for Q was holding up a steaming cup of what smelled like perfect coffee. He managed a croissant after that, continuing the debate with Q the whole time. In the end, however, he had to acknowledge that Q was right. In fact, he had an argument of his own to add, and did so, tugging his uniform firmly into place. 

"Well, I suppose it would just be awkward all over again when you did finally talk to them," he grumbled. 

"That's the spirit," Q smiled. 

"Picard to Commander Riker and Counselor Troi," Picard barked. "Could you meet me in the senior conference room?" 

"Aye, sir," from Riker. 

"On my way," from Troi. 

"At least let me get things started," Picard asked. 

Q raised his eyebrows at him and flashed out. 

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" 

Picard walked quickly, framing and re-framing his opening lines several times before he made it to the conference room. 

Where he found Q reclining in a chair, waiting for him. 

"Q..." he began as the door swooshed open again. 

"Captain...Q!" Troi's voice was strangled as she staggered to the nearest chair. Picard whirled around, intending to help her, but Riker was there ahead of him, taking her by the elbows and staring in alarm at her pale face. He got her into the chair before he straightened to look with naked hatred at the entity now wearing a somewhat dismayed expression. 

"What did you do to her?" he demanded. "Can't you ever just leave us alone?" 

_Well, this is going splendidly,_ Picard thought. 

"Will," Troi said faintly. "It's all right...I just...oh, dear." She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. 

"Are you all right, Deanna?" Picard asked quietly. 

She straightened and looked a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said at the same volume. "It's just...I had been sensing something, and I was straining to reach it more clearly. When I came in..." She looked at Q and swallowed. "It just overwhelmed me a bit." 

Now Riker looked puzzled, his gaze switching between the three others with a gathering frown. 

A glass of cold water flashed onto the table next to Troi, and she took it with a somewhat wan smile. 

"I'm sorry," Q said seriously. "I wasn't thinking about it." 

"No reason why you should have been." 

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Riker asked. 

Picard moved forward, indicating the chairs, and Riker sat stiffly in the chair next to Troi. She finished the water and smiled a bit more strongly, and Picard sat across from them both, acutely aware of Q's body only a few feet from him, and aware that Troi could feel the whole thing. 

"Will," he began, "I'm afraid there is no easy way to say this. Q has been the artist responsible for the Eschers, although he did not create the Escherite." 

"You made the anomalies?" Riker was staring at Q in unabashed and unpleased surprise. "Why?" 

"Why does anyone make art?" 

Riker snorted in exasperation, but then paused when Picard uncomfortably shook his head. 

"He didn't mean that as a rhetorical question, Will." 

Riker looked at Deanna, who was starting to look much better. She was even starting to glow a bit, and smiled faintly at him, though she was obviously worried. 

Reluctantly, he looked next at Q. The entity wasn't currently giving him his usual look, the one that suggested Riker was something which had recently become stuck to Q's shoe and wouldn't obligingly scrape off into the grass. No, the expression on Q's face was almost...pensive. 

"Artists are inspired by all sorts of things," Riker growled, "a sense of wonder, a desire to communicate..." 

"Think in more Freudian terms," Q coaxed. 

An incredibly horrible thought shot through Riker's mind, and he turned to stare in near terror at Troi, then back at Q. He opened his mouth to threaten Q if he so much as touched her, and then felt Deanna's hand on his arm. 

"No, Will," she said very gently. "Not me..." 

Feeling more confused by the second, he stared at her, then turned and saw that his captain's face was red. He looked somewhat like he had when Riker told him about the crush Ensign di Gregario had on him. 

A split-second before Riker turned to tell Q he was dangerously insane, Picard's eyes flicked to Q's face and seemed to find some sort of comfort there, some sort of strength. 

Riker was standing before he realized he'd wanted to stand. The others, even Q, were looking at him with open concern. 

He thought then, squeezing the impulse out of his locked-up brain, that he could simply walk out. Alone, given a few years, perhaps he could wrap his understanding around what seemed to be going on here. But he couldn't leave. He could never just leave Picard like that. 

Instead, he walked to the window, and looked at the golden-ringed anomaly which up until two minutes ago he'd found indescribably beautiful. 

_What the hell do I say to this? What do I_ do? __

He remembered something then with sharp clarity. He'd only been on the Enterprise a few weeks, and they'd all been infected by contact with the Tsilchovsky. Slowly, each member of the crew had succumbed to that awful virus that had them reeling like drunks and trying to sleep with each other. When he'd realized the captain had been infected, and then, even worse, when he knew he'd fallen ill himself, that incredible feeling of hopelessness, and helplessness, had drained him of the ability to move, to struggle, to do anything but watch others behave. 

There was no question but that Q had the power to do this to Picard without his permission. Riker knew all about the feelings a Q could invoke in a Human. He remembered how Amanda had made him love her. The feelings hadn't felt fake, or introduced by another. He'd felt ready to explode with love for her, ready to slay dragons and compose odes and make love to her until his body collapsed. 

And yet, even Amanda had quickly realized that it meant nothing for him to feel love for her when she'd used her powers to create it. Surely Q would understand that any romantic feelings Picard might have for him under coercion would... 

Riker suddenly realized Picard was standing next to him. 

"Did he make the Eschers to...get your attention?" Riker asked quietly. 

"So it would seem." 

"I'm sorry I'm taking a while to adjust. You'll have to give me awhile on this." Riker stopped himself from phrasing it yet another way. 

"You aren't going to call for my resignation?" 

Riker finally turned to look down at his captain, plainly showing his surprise. "Of course not, sir." 

A look Riker couldn't decipher moved over Picard's face. "Thank you for that, Will," he said very quietly. "I probably will need to, but it would be infinitely preferable to have it come from me." 

Riker used everything he had to keep from shooting Q a suspicious glare. "Why do you think you'll need to resign? Starfleet Command --" 

"It needn't go to Starfleet Command," Picard said firmly. "You of all people, Will, understand the temptation his powers represent." 

"And I also know that if there's anyone who can resist them, can still command and be effective as a Human while exposed to them, it's you, sir." 

That look Riker couldn't decipher -- or perhaps couldn't quite believe meant what he hoped it meant -- passed again over Picard's face. "Thank you for that as well, Number One." 

Riker looked at Troi, who shrugged at him. Picard looked at her too, and she smiled. The glowing she'd started earlier had set in completely now, and the men jointly realized that she was simply responding to the emotions in the room. Picard couldn't help looking at Q, and Riker realized he could leave now without causing anyone injury. 

"If you would, sir," he said, looking towards the door, "I'd appreciate it if you would give me a little time before you tell the rest of the command crew. I'd like to get..." He couldn't think how to phrase it. 

"Of course, Will. I don't see why it can't wait until this afternoon's conference and Beverly's report of her Escherite analysis." 

Riker nodded and walked out, his mind filled with images of trees and grass and a very quiet, very long walk in Holodeck Four. 

Troi stood and gently placed a hand on Picard's forearm, smiling. 

"We'll have to talk," she said, "later." 

Picard nodded with a rueful smile, and she left. 

Q waited a moment, then stood and walked to Picard. The hazel eyes turned to him. 

"You see?" Q asked. "They love you." 

Picard moved forward and rested his head against Q's chest. Strong arms went around him and he felt deeply comforted and cherished. Riker and Troi hadn't turned on him, hadn't thought him insane or coerced, hadn't been disgusted with him. Such sentiments could and doubtlessly would come from others in the crew, and Will hadn't realized the nightmare he'd stirred in his captain's mind at the thought of Starfleet Command. Picard still knew he'd have to give up his command, but that had nothing to do with the overwhelming relief and the painful joy coursing through his body. 

He loved them too, as their friend and their captain. 

After several long minutes, he realized they were in his quarters. He thought to comment on it, then simply reached up and pulled Q down for a long, sweet kiss. Those skilled lips...in all his dreams they'd been so perfect, and now they were perfection again, comforting him, helping him relax. A tear slid out of his own eye, and Q's lips chased it down and kissed it away. 

Gently, Q led him to the bed, helped him off with his boots, took off his own, and got them both into bed. Quietly, he curled around the man's body, and the room grew dark except for the warm glow of the anomaly Q had made for him hanging just outside the ship. 

Picard rolled over in the bed, relieved beyond words that the bedroom looked so normal. No pictures of erotic art or sex toys lying about. 

"I don't even know what you do for a living," he grumbled. 

The man next to him chuckled. "I'm a lawyer, actually, but not the ambulance-chasing kind. Primarily, I work for the ACLU -- but don't worry. I'm not the flag-burning kind either." 

Picard laughed, stretching. So many years of lonely, cold mornings, and now this...miracle beside him. "The ACLU?" he asked. "That explains why you ride the bus." 

Quintin laughed. "I don't mind it. Saves a fortune and it's not usually such a crush. I'll never get around any other way, now, of course." 

Suddenly, Picard's uncertainty rose up and he was on his elbows, staring into those dark, liquid eyes. 

"You really meant what you said? This really means something to --" 

His questions were cut off by a kiss that made him dizzy. He couldn't believe the warmth and urgency that immediately pumped into his body. He moved closer and pressed his hardening cock into the soft, firm thigh of the man he barely knew and yet wanted to spend the rest of his life with. His fingers were running over his chest, his lips opening to find the other's tongue and curl his own around it. 

"You feel so good," Quintin said. "I want to have you touch me forever." 

"What can I do?" Jean-Luc gasped out. "What can I do with you?" 

"Anything." 

Picard groaned. He knew what he wanted, but it had been so long, and perhaps men didn't really work quite the same that way as women. When he'd done this before, it was only after he'd been inside women the other way, after he'd done a great deal to prepare them. 

And yet that didn't stop his fingers from finding the place he so very much wanted to enter. Quintin groaned and moved slightly away, but only to roll over on his stomach... 

Picard made himself wake up, but the only thing that changed was the setting. They were in his golden-tinged quarters. Q was lying on his stomach with his legs spread. Picard was on top of him, kissing his back. 

"The ACLU?" he couldn't help asking even while his fingers returned to Q's cleft. 

"I actually did work on a campaign of theirs once," Q said, his voice shaking. "Long story." 

"One I'd like to hear in...Ohhhh." Warm oil from nowhere was covering his fingers and he easily slid the tip of his index finger inside Q's tightly puckered opening. "Q...have you done this...before?" 

"I've...oh, oh...had sex a few million times, Jean-Luc, but no, not like this. Oh!" 

Picard had his finger in deeply now, and was thrusting gently with it. 

"So empty," Q groaned. "I'm so empty. You've got to...put your cock in me. Deeply. I want to know you're fucking me." 

"We need to get you relaxed more," the man said, listening to the panting quality to his own voice. His cock was leaking and yet he was afraid any second he would lose his erection. It was all so much. He could feel the reality starting to bind him. He wanted to make this good for Q. He wanted Q to feel nothing but pleasure. 

He wanted Q to agree to do this again and again. 

He was up to two fingers now, and Q was starting to writhe on the bed, kicking his legs out to the sides, twisting his hips. 

"Don't make me beg, Jean-Luc," he asked simply. "I'm so empty." 

He worked in another finger and felt the tissue stretching. "This is hurting?" 

"A little," Q confessed. "I don't care. So empty." 

"You're getting tense," Picard said, running his free hand over Q's back and feeling the taut muscles. "Are you frightened by this? Should we stop?" 

"Yes, I'm a little frightened." Q sighed. "But please don't stop." 

"But if I hurt you --" 

"It's not pain that frightens me. Don't! No! Don't pull your fingers out unless you're about to fuck me." 

Uncertainly, Picard continued gently working his fingers inside Q's anus, trying to urge the tight muscles to loosen just a bit more. 

"I'm going to be different," Q said so quietly Picard had to lean forward to hear properly. "Jean-Luc, the man I've loved all these long Human years, is about to fuck me in the ass. Your cum is going to be inside my body. I'll never be again what I am now once that happens. I'm going to need you more, belong to you more, own you more. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything. So I'm afraid." 

With the confession done, Q sighed again, and Picard felt him relax just slightly. 

"I could be inside you now," the man whispered. 

"Yes," Q whispered back, raising himself carefully to his knees and elbows. Picard looked at the body readying for him, his fingers buried inside, and felt his whole being shudder with lust. He wanted to say more soothing things, wanted to tell Q he loved him, wanted to work his opening just a little bit more in preparation. But instead he simply moved forward, took out his fingers, and placed himself at that opening. 

"Yesssss," his lover hissed as Picard pushed slightly forward. Q was so hot inside and tight, almost painfully so, and they both moved with such care. Picard pushed in slightly, then withdrew, back and forth, teasing and cautious. Twice Q made a noise almost like a squeak, or a hic-cough, and Picard waited, sheer terror keeping him from moving, until Q nodded his head and pushed back against him again. 

And then Picard was all the way inside, his cock completely buried in Q's ass. The body beneath him was trembling, and that heat and pressure were going to drive him insane if he couldn't thrust, just a little... 

"How does it feel?" he got out, biting his lip when Q didn't answer immediately, shuddering now. "Q, I love you. If you want me to pull out now, I can just --" 

"Say that again." 

"I love you." 

Q shuddered once more, but Picard sensed a difference in it this time. 

"I said I love you, Q. I will _always_ love you." 

"Oh, you love me and your cock is in my ass," Q moaned. 

"My cock is in your lovely ass," Picard agreed, thrusting just slightly. 

"Yes. More of that." 

"Your lovely _lovely_ ass." 

"More! Oh, and harder!" 

"Like this? God, Q, you feel so good." 

"Yes! Oh! Oh! This is...wonderful! Wait until...it's your turn...I'm going to...make you feel...this incre...dible!" 

"Oh! Fire...fire in you. You're burning me." Picard was hardly aware of what he was saying, his hands locked on Q's hips, his whole body and heart and mind fixed on pumping his lover as hard as he could. Dimly, he thought they might simply ignite. 

"Yes!" Q was screaming with each thrust, wanting to bring up his hand to stroke himself and tumble into the firestorm ahead. But his hands were busy gripping the sheets and helping him push back against each thrust. "Yes! Yes!" 

Picard let go of Q's right hip and slipped his hand around. One stroke, then another, and then Q was coming, the cum spilling fire into his grasp, releasing them both, letting Picard shove himself as deeply as he could into Q's body and shoot all that he had inside, filling Q up, changing them both, completing everything he ever wanted. Loving him. 

They stayed with each other through several convulsions, then fell, united in oblivion, to the bed. 

"And finally," Q said, his whole face softening as he unerringly picked Jean-Luc out in the audience and looked right at him, "I want to thank my husband, Jean-Luc, without whom all of this would be meaningless. This," and he held up the gold statue, "is as much his as it is mine." 

The audience, Picard among them, rose to their feet and applauded wildly, as Q and the actress who had presented the award were led off the stage. Picard surreptitiously brushed the tears from his eyes as he waited for the final award of the evening. It didn't matter that _Picasso at the Lapin Agile_ was up for Best Picture, he just wanted to be somewhere private (or even semi-private) with his husband. He applauded almost automatically when the award was announced, only realizing it had been given to _Picasso_ when the producers, grinning like idiots, eased past him. He was touched when both Jay and Ellen included both Q and himself in their acceptance speeches, but he was still anxious to see Q. 

He saw Q backstage, but there was no time for more than a quick hug and kiss as reporters clamored for interviews and everyone milled about in confusion. They didn't have time to be alone until well into the studio's party, after everyone important had made yet another speech and the toasts had started. 

Finally, Picard was looking for both a waiter _and_ his husband, when he heard a quick, "Psst." He glanced around to see a face alive with mischief looking out of a barely opened door. He quickly made his way to the door and found himself in... 

"A broom closet? Q, you are _out_ of your mind!" 

"Who's gonna look for us here?" 

Jean-Luc only growled in reply and pushed Q up against the wall for a long, luxuriant kiss. "Why do we have to put up with this bullshit?" he muttered when they finally broke for air. They were pressed tightly together, and he could feel Q's erection as they ground their hips together. 

"Hmmpf," Q snorted, nuzzling Jean-Luc's neck. "You're the one who's always telling me that good publicity is important." 

"Fuck that," Picard replied and then moaned as Q shoved his shirt collar out of the way and bit hard at his neck. "Oh God...yes..." he breathed. 

Once more Picard forced himself awake. He wasn't surprised to discover that Q was lying on top of him, biting and sucking at one point on his neck. It hurt a little, but the faint pain was not important when compared to the fierce need it evoked in him. He spared a quick thought for the mark that Q was going to leave behind and then didn't worry about it. The new uniforms were good for _something._

Picard thrust up hard against the body covering him, and tilted his head to make things easier for Q. Everything was narrowing down to that one spot on his neck and even the almost painful erection straining against Q's hip was secondary to the heat of Q's mouth on his skin. He grabbed Q's arms tightly, and was astonished at how close he was to an orgasm just from this. 

"Yessss..." he hissed as Q pulled one arm free and slid a hand between them to grasp Picard's cock. Q stroked a few times, bit down a little harder, and Jean-Luc came, yelling at the top of his lungs and almost throwing Q off him. 

Q was a little surprised; he had bit at Jean-Luc's neck in the dream because he wasn't sure how Picard would deal with it in the "real" world. He was even more surprised when Picard suddenly rolled them both until Q was lying on his back. Without thinking, Q pulled his legs back and thought lubricant into existence on Jean-Luc's hand. Picard smiled down at him, and slid two fingers inside him. 

The entity moaned, finding that the thought of Jean-Luc fucking him was even better now that he knew how good it would be. He was able to relax much more quickly now, and he was soon watching as Jean-Luc stroked his own cock until it grew hard again and glistened with oil. 

"Please," Q moaned, pushing against Picard's fingers and wanting more. Picard only smiled and slid another finger inside him. It helped the need a little, but what Q wanted was for Jean-Luc to... 

"Stop...fooling around...ohhhh...and...fuck me..." 

"Language," Picard said, managing to sound shocked. Q couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped; whenever he'd imagined having sex with Jean-Luc, laughing had not been part of the scenario. Picard smiled down at him and started moving his fingers harder and faster into Q. Q, on display and liking it, moved back against those fingers and Picard's smile got wider. "You look so good," he said. 

Q watched with wide eyes as Picard's free hand dropped down to caress his own cock again. Suddenly Q realized what was going to happen and he got even harder at the thought of it. He began to cry out as Jean-Luc's fingers inside him grew more insistent, and when he thought about what he had to look like, all spread out, fucking himself on Jean-Luc's fingers and waiting for Jean-Luc to come on him, he screamed almost desperately. 

"Open your eyes," that deep voice commanded, and Q, who hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes, obeyed. 

"I'm going...to come...all over...you..." Picard panted. 

"Yes!" Q yelled, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. Their gazes locked for a moment and then Jean-Luc flung his head back and pumped his cock furiously. Q watched it all with greedy eyes, clenching his muscles around Jean-Luc's fingers. 

"Oh God!" Jean-Luc yelled. "Ohhh...Q!" And he came, pelting Q's chest with heat and somehow managing to shove his fingers roughly into Q's ass. 

Q yelped and, staring at the livid bite mark on Jean-Luc's neck, tumbled over the edge into his own orgasm. He was dimly aware of Jean-Luc's hand on his cock coaxing even more feeling out of him, but mostly he was aware of the heat pouring out of him and how good this felt when one knew that one was loved. He carried that thought with him into unconsciousness, welcoming the Human sensation of the blackout just as he had welcomed the rest of it. 

Picard looked at his unconscious lover. Q was sprawled on his back, and as far as Picard was concerned, there had never been a sight so amazing. Well, he corrected himself, Q in general was amazing. And yes, Jean-Luc loved him, all of him. Even now, after coming twice in a very short time, Picard found himself wanting Q with a need that startled him. For that reason, if no other, his decision to resign made sense. How could he possibly do his job when all he really wanted to do was fuck Q? Or, he thought a little nervously, be fucked by him. He was going to ask for that tonight, he realized. He'd waited long enough and he wanted to feel Q inside him, wanted to know what Q had felt earlier. 

Picard remembered Q being afraid, not of the pain, but of the change the act would bring about in him. And, how, Jean-Luc wondered, would he himself be changed by that act? Not that it mattered, of course, when he was already so changed by everything that had happened. He could already feel the complex strands of emotion binding him to Q the same way those tendrils of red energy had seemed to wrap themselves around him. It scared him a little; he was so used to his independence... 

_Nonsense, Jean-Luc,_ he told himself. _That's your practiced response to intimacy kicking in._ He thought about how lonely he'd felt before the dreams started up and how good it had felt to wake up next to Q. He thought about Q belonging to him as much as he belonged to Q and his whole body relaxed. This _was_ going to work. 

"What makes you say that?" Troi asked curiously, when Picard voiced the same opinion to her later that day. He'd managed to explain to Q why he had to see Deanna on his own, and now he was sitting in her office trying to explain himself to her. 

"Because I'm willing to do whatever it takes to see that it does." 

Troi nodded. "You seem to think that you will have to resign your commission." 

"I don't see how I can balance Q and my love for him with my command, Deanna." He looked away for a moment, and the movement rubbed at the sore spot on his neck, sending a little thrill through his whole body. 

"What are you afraid of?" she asked, nothing in her tone indicating that she had sensed his body's reaction. 

Picard couldn't answer right away. Talking to her was always this way: so direct and so basic and so difficult to deal with. He wanted to be angry at her, but she was only doing her job, a job he'd asked her to do. 

"Losing..." he said softly. 

"Losing?" Deanna prodded, feeling that little "click" in her mind that told her they were getting closer to the root of the problem. "Losing what?" 

"Everything...myself..." Picard gestured aimlessly as he tried to explain, and as she felt him push himself to answer her honestly, Troi hid her admiration for him. 

"I...he's so overwhelming...being with him is so overwhelming," Picard explained delicately. He didn't really want to go into the details of how incredible sex was with Q. Just the thought of avoiding it as a topic stirred something in his stomach. 

"I know that much," she replied with equal care. 

Picard blushed a little. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be; I really am trained to deal with it." She looked at him narrowly. "You used the word 'overwhelming,' and I don't think you're just talking about the sex. Why that word?" 

"Because it's been like that almost since this started with the dreams. The whole thing has been... _is_ so much more than I ever imagined." He paused and rose to pace. Troi leaned back in her chair and watched him without comment. 

"Remember," Picard said, "how I told you that I wanted to find that Someone?" 

Troi nodded. 

"Well, it was a lot easier to have that dream than it is to have the reality." He shook his head, and sat down again. "I could get lost in all of this." 

"Lost? How?" 

"Lost...as in a part of myself could go missing. I'm willing to throw everything away for him, Deanna. Does that sound like _me_?" 

"As a matter of fact, it does," she replied. Picard stared at her and she smiled. "You're in love like I've never seen you to be, like you've never been before, and, probably because the object of your emotions is so difficult, you're throwing yourself into it the way you throw yourself into every challenge you've ever found important. Somewhere in the past, you convinced yourself that you can't have the love you really want without giving everything up for it. Or, conversely, you decided that you couldn't have your career without giving everything up for _it._ " 

"Are you saying I'm wrong in thinking that?" 

"Only you know the answer to that sort of question." 

Picard recalled his conversation earlier that day, before... He wrenched his mind from the rest of the memory. "Q thinks it will work, our being together and my having my command." 

"Do you find that encouraging?" 

"I don't know." He found himself smiling slightly as he thought of Q's insistence that Picard not give up his command. "He says that I wouldn't be who I am if I left Starfleet. He's also afraid that I'd resent him for it." 

"Do you think he's right?" 

There was a long silence. "I don't know, Deanna, I just don't know." He sighed and leaned his head back against the back of the sofa. "It seems unfair...somehow selfish..." 

"Why?" 

"Why should I have everything? Why should he have to wait for me to get off duty before we can be together?" 

"All right, let's look at those questions separately," Troi said knowing it would push him a little. Picard hadn't been this intent on his own analysis since the Cardassian incident, and she'd be a fool not to work with everything he was giving her. "How about the easy one first? Does Q mind the possibility of waiting for you to do your job?" 

"He doesn't seem to, but there hasn't been a crisis that has me going for days on end either." He thought suddenly himself of being without Q for days and felt his stomach twist. Would Q not be there when he woke up if they both knew there wouldn't be time for...other things? 

"And yet, he knows what you do. We know he's studied us, and you in particular, for a long time. He has to know what he's getting into." She smiled slightly. "No matter how you look at him, he _is_ an adult." She let his frustration hang between them for a moment. "Why are you unwilling to let him make that decision for himself?" 

Picard looked down at his hands, embarrassed. But he'd be more embarrassed if she said it instead of him. "Because I always know what's right for everyone," he confessed. "It's always been a bit of a stumbling block in my relationships." 

"Well, that is something that the two of you will have to deal with. I imagine it won't be easy, because he seems to think that _he_ knows what's right for everyone too." Picard chuckled and she laughed with him. "But that's another session. Now, can you tell me why you shouldn't have everything?" 

"Because it's impossible." 

" _You_ think it's impossible," she corrected him very gently. "Q doesn't." 

"Even if I wanted to have both Q and my command, I still don't think I'm capable of it, all right?" Picard said angrily. "Don't you understand what I've been trying to say, Deanna? How can I be responsible for a thousand lives if I'm too busy thinking about...being with my lover? Right now, I'm thinking about it! As you doubtlessly know." 

"You're newly in love. I'd be worried if you weren't thinking about it." 

"But I can't think about him constantly if I'm in command!" 

"Because this overwhelms you?" she half-asked, her quiet voice a contrast to his angry tones. He'd dodged the question and she was going to let him get away with it for a minute. Yes, he was afraid of being distracted by his relationship with Q, but that wasn't the key issue here. 

"Because it overwhelms me?" he echoed, his voice still angry. He stared at her as if trying by sheer force of will to get her to understand what he was saying. "Yes! Because I _want_ it to overwhelm me. Because I want to be so involved with him that I don't know where Jean-Luc begins and Q leaves off. Because if that happens, then I'm not Captain Picard anymore, I'm not me...I'm someone else...and I can't be...I won't let that...not again..." 

Troi nodded in recognition as his voice broke and two rather determined tears spilled from his eyes. He didn't cringe from his own weeping as he had in the past, and she could feel the old wound tearing fresh pain through him. Quickly, she sat next to him on the sofa and reached to grip his hands. 

"It isn't the same," she said with all the authority she could muster. "It can't be the same if you _want_ it." He clung to her hands as his breathing grew more regular. After a moment, she continued. "Yes, you will be someone else, that can't be helped. Already we're seeing a side of you we've never seen. But it's a side that was always there. I don't think you could love Q if you thought he was going to turn you into something you aren't, or something you don't want to be." 

He was quiet for a long moment and when he spoke, his anger was gone. "No, he wouldn't do that." As quiet as it was, the statement held the ring of conviction. "So I'm afraid of something that's already a part of me?" 

"Most of us are." 

"I'm afraid of changing," he said, his voice surprised. "Maybe I've been so rigid for so long that I'm afraid I'll break." 

"Happiness can be just as shattering as pain," Troi replied. "You won't be the same; you couldn't have something this meaningful and not be changed by it." She paused and then added: "You do need to decide if this new Jean-Luc can, or even wants to, command a starship. But you have to be honest with yourself and with Q while you're deciding." 

He was silent for a very long time and Troi could feel him struggling with himself. She held her breath in unprofessional suspense. When he finally made up his mind, she felt a "snap" as if the final piece of a complicated puzzle had been placed. 

"I do want to be with Q _and_ keep the Enterprise." He looked at her in amazement. "I honestly don't think it's possible, but that doesn't seem to affect it. I really do want both." 

"Then," she said, letting none of her triumph color her words or facial expression, "you need to learn how to do just that." She couldn't help smiling. "I seem to recall your once telling Data that things are only impossible until they're not." 

Picard looked rueful. "I was somewhat angry at the time." 

"But determined. Q sounds determined too." She squeezed his hands and released them a bare moment before it would probably occur to him to grow uncomfortable with her touch. "Frankly, I admit to being somewhat curious over what the two of you can do working together instead of against one another for a change." 

She had expected her comment to end the session comfortably, but instead found herself suddenly relying on her training quite heavily as an expression almost of wonder spread across her captain's face, while a rapturous warmth filled him. 

"He really is quite...extraordinary, you know," his baritone rumbled out as though sharing a divine secret. 

She couldn't help smiling back, though she did manage to refrain from saying that Picard was extraordinary as well. Getting him to believe that was Q's job now, and a task, she couldn't help thinking, worthier of him than others she'd known about. 

She'd done quite a bit of thinking about her captain and the semi-omnipotent entity in the past few hours, reevaluating so much of what she had witnessed over the years and feeling more than a little incompetent at not having known what was "really" going on. When Q had lost his powers, all she'd sensed clearly from him was terror. There had been a moment in the conference room where she'd sensed something...some sort of undercurrent from Q towards Picard that she'd thought was nothing more than grudging admiration and a wealth of ulterior motives. It certainly made more sense to her now that Q had run to Picard when he'd needed protection and comfort. 

And what about Vash? she'd found herself wondering. Had Q taken her from the captain because he couldn't stand their being together? Had he been jealous of her? 

And Picard's trip to the past, and the lesson -- quite a valuable one, Troi had thought at the time -- which Picard had learned about himself: had that been some sort of preparation of Picard by Q for this? 

And even as this speculation flashed once more through her mind, she became aware that Picard's emotional state was changing again, forming into an almost tangible need. 

"I think this is a good place to stop for now," she said gently, closing her mind slightly to the sensation. 

"Agreed," Picard said, his face betraying nothing of what was happening inside him. 

"Well," a familiar voice asked, "was this a productive session, Dr. Psyche?" 

"More productive than some," she replied smoothly, glad she'd toned down her sensitivity as she dimly felt Picard's heart skip a beat in joy. 

"Will you be wanting to do these jointly after awhile?" Q drawled, leaning back against the bulkhead with his arms crossed. 

Troi and Picard both blinked, then both tried to figure out to which of them he was talking. 

"Would you be willing?" the captain asked finally. 

Q shrugged. "I'll transform myself into a llama and do the Risan Cha-Cha if you think it will help." 

Picard turned to the counselor with a raised eyebrows. "I've never heard of that particular technique." 

"It's...all the rage," she managed. 

Q laughed and snapped his fingers, and she was looking at an empty office. The emotional calm actually made her shiver in relief. Her captain would find some way to stay in command, she was certain of it. Whether or not she would be able to help them when being around them made her soul hum in emotional resonance, however, seemed much harder to guarantee. 

Picard barely registered that they were back in his quarters before Q had taken him in a fiercely passionate embrace. He turned his face up, pulled Q's down, and kissed him with a passion to match. There were still two hours before the conference, before he would have to face Beverly and Data and LaForge as he explained his position...Oh, his position was standing and he could be lying down with Q over him. 

Not letting go of his lover, he walked backwards and fell with him to the white bed, laughing again at the thought of Catalina's thugs. Evading them really had been ridiculously easy. 

"Do you remember when we met at the Forum?" his co-conspirator and lover gasped out, rearranging his body so that he could pull Picard's tunic off in one motion. 

"Yes," he moaned, both at the question and at the feel of those large hands caressing him. He wanted to reciprocate, to use his fingers to drive his lover as crazy as he himself was being driven, but he could do nothing but lay there and feel everything, so clear, so sharp, so hot and so perfect. Warm palms were sliding over his thighs now, and he spread his legs easily, welcoming whatever the other man had in mind. Fingertips teased the backs of his knees, and he writhed in disbelief at the sheer sex of it. 

"Are you sure you're not some god come down to sport with mortals?" he demanded. 

"Are you sure you're not some statue to which a god gave life and voice?" 

Picard laughed and thought of the rewards they would have for this night's work. They would certainly have to leave the city for a while, until the Senate had stripped Catalina of the last of his military powers. 

"I have a farm in the Dralot Province," he whispered as his lover smoothed the flushed skin over his stomach. 

"I have eight chariot horses and three house servants." Soft lips were moving now over his hip. 

"I mean..." Oh, what did he mean? "I mean we could stay there and -- oh gods!" 

A tongue, skilled and hot, was coiling around his cock even while gentle fingers were teasing his anus. 

Urgently, Picard woke himself, though again all that changed was the setting. Q's lips were joining his tongue in a slow, gliding dance over his cock, and warm lubricant was helping one long finger slide inside him. Q's other hand was twisting gently at his left nipple, and it seemed that his consciousness was collapsing down to just those areas of his body that Q was in contact with. Pleasure was pulsing into his brain as though in streams of light, and he desperately wanted to offer up everything to the brightness that was Q's touch. 

"But I was...right," he got out as the pressure in his ass began to increase and decrease in a rhythm, and the mouth moved around his erection as though learning every secret he possessed. "You are...a god come down...to love a mortal." 

Q raised his head and met his gaze, his lips shiny but his eyes brighter still. "And you're a work of art some unfathomable good fortune has presented to me as a gift." His voice deepened as he looked down to Picard's slick, pulsing cock. "A gift I intend to open and enjoy over and over..." He kissed the tip. "...and over..." another kiss, this time right on the spot that always felt so good "and over again." In a fluid stroke, he slid his entire mouth down over his cock, wrapping him in all the stimulating heat and motion his skill could offer as his finger sank deeply into Picard's ass. 

The man screamed and tried to come, but Q's hand had left his nipple and was now wrapped around the base of his erection, pressing hard. He writhed and whimpered in protest, but the climax was firmly held back, and then Q was pleasuring him again. 

And then Picard felt it, a twinge of discomfort, a desire not to be so completely under another's control, an instinctive reaction against being manipulated even in a way he wanted. 

"Jean-Luc?" 

"I'm sorry," he groaned. "Please don't stop." 

"I'm not going to stop. I just want you to be comfortable." 

Picard opened his eyes and looked again at Q, his face flushed and again so bright, and saw himself as he must look to Q: spread out on display, so hard, so... 

"I have no defenses against you," he whispered. "You are everything I want. Whatever the price, I have to be here with you like this." 

"You don't have to pay a price for loving me, Jean-Luc. Loving me _is_ the price." 

Picard was going to say something, beg for something, but then Q bent his head down again and there was nothing but that heat and pressure. Q's finger teased his ass almost roughly, and he thought then of that night, when he would ask Q to fuck him, seeing himself clearly in his mind being _fucked_ by Q, and with a roar he came explosively into his lover's mouth. 

"What can I do for you?" Picard asked several minutes later. He'd blacked out for a moment or two after coming and had then opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in Q's strong arms. 

"Whatever you like," Q replied, a little sheepishly. "It's not like I have any defenses against _you_ either." 

Picard smiled, an idea coming to mind. A quick glance at the clock informed him that he didn't have to be at his meeting for over an hour, and he sat up to look down at Q. "Really?" he asked quietly. When Q nodded, Picard smiled again. "Good." 

Jean-Luc leaned down and began lightly kissing Q's face, tracing its contours with his lips and enjoying the little hums of pleasure that his actions produced. He slowly kissed his way to that generous mouth, but when Q moved to kiss him back, Picard drew back. "Not being omnipotent," Jean-Luc said, "I need to learn about you the old-fashioned way." 

"Mmmm," Q replied as Picard began to kiss his way to the entity's ear. "I think your way is more fun." 

Picard chuckled before biting Q's earlobe gently. He was a little surprised at the result; Q gasped sharply, a gasp that was obviously one of pleasure. "Hmmm...I'll remember that," Picard murmured and began to trace the whorls of the ear with his tongue, pausing now and then to nibble. Q was soon squirming under him. 

"Jean-Luc...ohhh...that's...amazing..." Instead of replying, Picard nibbled down the side of Q's neck, never biting too hard. "You're trying...to drive me...ahhhh...crazy...aren't you?" 

"Who, me?" Picard said, sitting up to look at Q as innocently as possible. "Of course not." 

He substituted his hands for his mouth then, carefully mapping out Q's chest and arms. When he traced a spiral on the inside of Q's elbow and got a serious response, he bent his head and bit gently at the spot. Q cried out and Picard smiled to himself as he moved down to repeat the bite at Q's wrist. It was good to know that he had the same effect on his new lover that Q did on him. Given the way Q was sprawled on the bed, it was a relatively short move from his arm to his hip and so Picard continued his investigations there. 

Q couldn't believe how good it felt to have Jean-Luc's mouth moving over him. He was still a little surprised that Picard was this eager to get involved with him, although, as Jean-Luc's lips traveled over the sensitive skin of Q's hip, the entity wasn't going to complain about his good luck. Picard nipped lightly at the small hollow near the point of Q's hip and Q grabbed at the sheets as he moaned, trying to convince his lover to end this incredible tease. He wanted Jean-Luc's mouth on his cock _now,_ damnit! 

Then Picard was rolling him over and Q thought, excitedly: _He's going to fuck me!_ Nothing in his long life had prepared him for the way it felt to be fucked by Jean-Luc. He spread his legs and ground his cock against the sheets, as Jean-Luc began to kiss a slow trail of kisses down his spine. Each touch of his lips seemed almost to burn Q's skin, and the entity was almost sobbing in frustration when Jean-Luc began to plant kisses and light bites on his ass. 

Then those kisses moved down and closer in, and Q caught his breath, not quite sure what Jean-Luc was going to do next. When Jean-Luc did it, Q had about a half of a second to be surprised at the both the feeling of that warm mouth kissing his center, and the fact that Jean-Luc was doing _that_ to him. Then he was screaming in ecstasy as he came, all but tearing the sheets to which he was clinging. 

As Q shuddered through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he was aware of Picard sliding slick fingers inside him and he eagerly spread his legs and arched his hips. When, a moment later, Jean-Luc moved carefully inside him, the entity managed to speak. "Hard, Jean-Luc...please?" 

"Are you sure?" that warm voice rumbled. 

"Yes!" Q insisted, thinking a couple of pillows beneath his hips. Given permission to do exactly what he wanted to do, Picard didn't hesitate. Gripping Q's hips firmly, he moved hard into his lover, groaning as his cock was surrounded by that incredible heat. He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep from coming as he settled into a hard, driving rhythm, because nothing he'd ever done felt this good. He thought about conjugating verbs in Latin, but he got stuck on "amo." 

"Ohhhh...yes!" Q cried out, making it even harder for Picard to concentrate. "Jean-Luc...fuck me...harder...ohhhh!' 

"I am," Picard managed to say. "Oh God! I'm fucking...you...and it's...soooo good..." 

"Yes!" Q yelled out. "Tell me..." 

"So hot...so good to...fuck you...be with you...never been like...this with....anyone...else..." Unable to help himself, Picard gripped Q's hips even tighter, and thrust as hard as he could. Q thrashed beneath him and, overwhelmed, Picard yelled out, "Q!" just as Escher Nine exploded. A hundred reactions log-jammed in the captain's mind even as the orgasm was ripping through him would not be stopped. Everything went a little dark, but then the ship was rocked by the force of the explosion, but the force of the impact sounded quite familiar, and years of training along with basic survival instinct recognized one simple fact: 

They were under attack. 

  
"Q," he said in quite a different tone, urgent and yet even now warm with the depth of his feelings. Pulling his spent cock out of Q's body as quickly and gently as he could, he turned to meet the somewhat dazed but rapidly clearing expression of his lover's eyes. And then Q snapped his fingers, and they were both clean and dressed and standing beside the bed. 

"Riker to Picard! Three ships approaching." 

"Evasive maneuvers! I'm on my way." Picard looked at Q, who was looking at him nervously. "I love you," the captain said quickly. He heard Q's reply, a repetition of the same words, as he hit the door at a near run. 

Seconds later, he was on the bridge. He knew that it would normally have taken him longer to get there if he'd been out of uniform, but he was still concerned about what he'd been doing when the alert sounded. Besides, he was still feeling just a little content and dazed. Ruthlessly shoving his feelings and concerns aside, he listened as Riker reported. 

Escher Nine had exploded, and at the same time, three medium-sized spacecraft had fired on the Enterprise. They hadn't done any significant damage, but they seemed to be determined, as Riker put it, "to make a nuisance of themselves." They also refused to answer any of the Enterprise's attempts at communication. 

"Sir," Riker asked cautiously, "was Escher Nine supposed to blow up?" 

Aware that both Data and Li were looking at him with curiosity, Picard sighed. This didn't seem to be the place to break the news to his staff, or such of his staff as was present, but it wasn't like he had a choice. "I don't think Q would have put the ship in that much danger, Number One." The ship shuddered slightly as one of the enemy ships fired again. Picard turned to Li. "Have they answered our hails yet?" 

"No sir." 

"Try again." Li tried again and when there was still no answer, Picard frowned. He turned to Troi. "Counselor?" 

"I'm not getting much at this distance, but, in addition to considerable annoyance, they seem to be feeling almost proprietary." 

Picard thought about that. As far as he knew, this section of space wasn't claimed by anyone. "Very well," he said to Li, "open a hailing frequency." When Li indicated that he had done so, Picard spoke. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Stand down from your attack or we will be forced to defend ourselves. You have two minutes to comply." 

There was no immediate answer and Picard gestured to Li to cut the channel. When the captain turned to take his seat, Data glanced back at him for a second before turning back to his station. Picard sighed. "Q created the Escher Anomalies. Mr. Li, you were correct in assuming that they were a work of art." 

"Q," Data said, not turning from his monitors. "I apologize for not figuring this out earlier, Captain. Perhaps it was that I cannot understand why Q would do such a thing." 

"Suffice it to say that it was an attempt to impress me." 

"Impress you?" Data asked. 

"Is Q behind this attack?" Li asked simultaneously. 

"No," Picard replied firmly. "It was as surprising to him as it was to me." He couldn't help but recall what he and Q had been doing when the anomaly exploded, and he heard a slight cough from Troi. 

Fortunately for Picard, Li reported that the two minutes were up and the enemy ships had still not responded to the Enterprise's hail. Neither had they attacked again. 

"Fire a standard warning shot across the bow of the lead ship, Mr. Li." 

"Aye, sir." 

The ships backed off slightly and did not return fire. Picard wondered if they were conferring. "Do we have any idea who these people are?" he asked. 

"Their markings indicate that they are the Sylnatan, a non-aligned, single system people." 

"Right," Picard replied, trying to remember what he knew of the Sylnatan. The Federation rarely had dealings with them, and the reports he'd read didn't give him a lot to go on. They were said to be aggressive, but as they didn't have the resources field a large fleet, they were considered to be more of a nuisance than a threat. "Are we in Sylnatan space?" he asked. 

"No, sir," Data replied. The android bent glanced down at his console and then looked up. "Captain, our long-range sensors report three more ships of roughly the same size on an intercept course." 

"ETA?" Riker asked. 

"Fifteen minutes, Commander." 

Riker and Picard exchanged a look. "Three more," the first officer said quietly. "Things could get a little thick out here." Picard had to agree. 

He was just turning to tell Li to lock the phasers on the lead ships' weapons, when all three ships darted in and fired at the Enterprise. The ship rocked as the shields struggled to handle the attack and Picard was flung to the deck. He twisted to avoid hitting his head and felt a sharp, wrenching pain in his neck and shoulder. 

"Captain?" Troi was kneeling next to him in a flash. 

"I'm...all right," Picard said struggling to get to his feet. He knew he was far from all right; his left arm seemed to be hanging uselessly and he assumed that he had a dislocated shoulder. The pain seemed worse than that, but he didn't have time to figure it out. "Target our phasers on the weapon system on the lead ship," he snapped out. Li confirmed the target, and Picard, who had been helped to his chair by Troi, rapped out: "Fire!" 

"Direct hit, Captain," Li announced triumphantly. "The enemy vessels are backing off." 

"Captain," Data added, "we have destroyed the weapons system of the lead ship." 

Picard tried to get comfortable and winced. A second later he heard the hiss of a hypospray and felt the rush he associated with the sudden absence of pain. He looked at Troi who had moved on to the rest of the bridge, inquiring about everyone else, and smiled. She knew better than to try to get him to go to Sickbay, and this was her way of telling him that she knew he could still think clearly. 

"Damage report, Captain," Riker said. 

"Go ahead." 

"No real damage to any key systems, no casualties or major injuries." The first officer looked pointedly at Picard's arm, a look his captain seemed to ignore. "We're still in good shape." 

Picard was about to open his mouth and issue orders to hail the enemy ships again when the anomaly suddenly grabbed his attention. It rearranged itself, but the pattern was not the orrery-like beauty of Escher Nine. Instead it looked like an optical illusion illustration in multiple shades of blue. Unlike the looping, Celtic spirals of Escher Eight, Escher Ten was angular and looked rather like a puzzle that existed in more than three dimensions. Even with the concerns of the Sylantan attack, Picard couldn't help appreciating the artistry that had gone into the newest version of the anomaly. 

"Captain," Li said, breaking Picard fascinated concentration. "The Sylnatan are hailing us." 

"On screen." 

Picard remained seated as the Escher Ten was replaced with the inside of a starship and a somewhat nervous-looking humanoid. It was unfortunate, the captain thought, that the Sylnatan looked rather like large, upright rats. Firmly telling himself that the tiny beady eyes and long whiskers didn't mean that this race was shifty or untrustworthy, Picard nodded politely but firmly. 

"I am Captain Risnan of the Arador," the other captain said. 

"Perhaps, Captain," Picard said coolly, "you could tell me why you fired on my ship, after having been warned off." 

Risnan looked even more nervous. "Perhaps we were a bit hasty. However, we were protecting our interests." He glanced at some sort of screen to his left. "We had no idea of your technical...level. We feel we might have been...informed." 

Off-screen, Picard gestured to Li to cut the audio and turned to Troi. "Am I right in thinking that he thinks we're responsible for the anomaly?" 

"I'm not sure, but he is very nervous and intimidated, something I was not feeling earlier." 

"Captain," Picard said after Li brought up the audio again, "perhaps we need to meet and discuss the situation. If you have interests in this part of space of which the Federation is unaware, it might be wise to tell us of them." 

"I will consult with my superiors, Captain Picard. You will hear from us in one of your hours." 

The screen went back to showing the anomaly. 

"Captain," Riker said, looking at his arm. 

"Yes, yes, Number One." Picard frowned more at his thoughts than at his awkwardness as he rose out of the captain's chair. "I'll be back well before our hour is up," he muttered, and headed for the turbo-lift. 

"Captain," Data's voice followed him, the uncertainty in his voice so clear that the others on the bridge all turned to look at him. 

Picard saw the confusion in his yellow eyes, the way in which he had turned completely from his post, and sighed. The need to say "As you were," was strong, but he owed Data more than that. 

"You should get used to Q's presence on this ship," he said as flatly as possible. "At least for a time. I do not think he will be interfering in the Enterprise's affairs any more directly than with this anomaly, which he claims he finished some time ago and is now letting run on its own." 

"Aye, sir," Data said, his uncertainty unabated. 

"I need a scan of Escher Ten before our Sylnatan hour is up, Mr. Data," Riker snapped. 

The android blinked and returned to his console, and Picard moved with grateful speed on into the lift. 

"Sickbay." 

"Jean-Luc, are you all right?" 

"Yes, it's nothing." 

Q looked no more at ease than Data. He brought up a hand to snap it. "Then you'll let me --" 

"No, Q!" 

Q brought his hand down quietly. Picard drew a breath. "As long as I keep command, even if I'm to give it up sometime today, I have to function on this ship as her captain. I have to behave as I would whether you were here or not. I can't...use you and then pretend I still have a right to wear this uniform." He drew another breath, waiting the whole time for Q to start arguing. 

"Dr. Crusher is the chief medical officer on the Enterprise," he went on. "When I no longer avail myself of her services --" 

"I understand, Jean-Luc," Q said quietly. Then he smiled. "You see how good I can be?" 

Picard felt his anger rise and tried to stomp on it. The lift would reach Sickbay in another couple of seconds. "Not good enough to keep from frightening off the Sylnatan." The doors opened. "Did you really think I couldn't handle it?" 

Ensign Gracel and Crewman Turut stared in surprise as their captain and a tall, dark-haired man in another captain's uniform walked out of the lift. Captain Picard was holding his arm stiffly, and the other man looked anxious, so they assessed that he had been hurt on the bridge and was now headed to Sickbay. They stepped well out of the captains' way. 

"I told you," the tall captain was saying, "that the Eschers are self-sustaining. When Nine was destroyed, Ten filled the vacuum." 

"The Sylnatan think we did that!" Picard hotly responded as the Sickbay doors opened and then shut behind them. 

The ensign and the crewman met each other's eyes a moment, both shrugging slightly, then went into the lift. Well, they'd both been warned that life on the Enterprise wasn't going to be what they expected. 

"I can't help that, either, Jean-Luc," Q said as Crusher turned from the bio-bed she'd just cleared of a patient with a sprained wrist. Somehow, she managed not to drop her tricorder. "Not unless you want me to interfere, and you said if our relationship is to work out that I can't." 

"Of course you can't!" He seemed to get a grip on himself and turned to the doctor. "I believe I've dislocated my shoulder." 

"Sit up here, please," she said quietly, then looked at the entity, her thoughts battering each other. "Q." 

"Bev-erly." 

"I'd like to be alone with my patient." 

Q frowned, then flashed out. 

Crusher waved the tricorder sensor over his shoulder, arm, and neck. "You've torn several ligaments, and the shoulder is slightly out of joint." 

"Beverly." 

"I don't think it will take long to fix." 

"Beverly, Q and I --" 

"And there won't be any permanent damage, though you might watch yourself during battles a bit more carefully." 

"Beverly!" 

"I don't want to hear it!" 

Nurse Ogawa didn't look up as she headed into the medical lab, clearing the room, but neither Beverly, who was staring down at her tricorder, or Jean-Luc, who was staring at Beverly, noticed. He watched as she pushed back a lock of hair with hands that shook. 

"I can't believe what I just saw," she said, grabbing a hypospray, and then just standing there with it. "I can't fucking _believe_ it!" 

"Beverly!" It was the first time he'd heard her say something like that, the first time he'd ever seen her so angry. 

She whirled on him, wielding the hypo like a knife. "You and Q? You and the same person who pushed you away from me?" 

"What are you talking --" 

"We had a chance, Jean-Luc! I reached out to you after Q's temporal anomaly! I kept the letters going while the Enterprise-E was being completed and I was stuck heading Starfleet Medical again! I --" She choked suddenly, realized the hypo was in her hands, and stabbed him in the arm with it. As soon as the hiss died, she grabbed up her tricorder again and scanned him a second time. 

"I was the one who suggested we pursue our feelings after we were together on Kes-Prytt," he said quietly. "I was the one who admitted to being in love with you." 

"Years ago. Too many years ago for you to recover the emotion, it seems." 

"Beverly, please." He waited for her to look at him, then sighed. "When I told you about the future Q showed me, about our marriage and divorce, you were the one who said we should just play things by ear." 

Her scans complete, she grabbed another medical instrument and ran it back and forth, slowly, expertly, over his shoulder. "And that was that, wasn't it? No matter what I did, you wouldn't get close again." 

"You're one of my oldest, dearest friends. And I thought that's all you wanted." 

"But I was never quite good enough for you, was I, Jean-Luc?" She set the instrument down and stepped back, meeting his eyes now coldly. "Isn't that why we got divorced?" 

"We got divorced because we got tired of hurting each other, because we could never stop arguing, because we wanted different things." 

"And knowing that, couldn't we have worked to overcome it? Couldn't we have made it better?" 

"Yes! We could have! But we didn't! Neither of us was brave enough! Neither of us was 'good' enough! And now I'm in love with Q and that is never going to change!" 

Beverly gave him a tight, cruel little smile. "And I see you're arguing with him as well." 

"Yes, but..." He struggled, pride trying to keep him from admitting this to her. "If he insists, I'll give in." 

Her eyes went wide while her lips thinned. 

"In fact, I think, it seems quite likely, I'll have to give up my command...to be with him." He waited for her to speak, then read her expression. His eyes filled with pain. "You despise me for saying that. You think I'm weak for giving in so completely. It was that way when we were married. When I opposed you, you fought me. When I won out over you, you resented me. And when I gave in to you, you felt nothing but disdain. I could never be soft for you, Beverly, never giving, never faulty. When I made mistakes, you rubbed my nose in them. When I needed comfort, you would hold me and kiss me, even make love to me, then you would tell me to get back to work, as though I were one of your patients. I tried to be what you wanted, and the more I changed the more you seemed to hold me in contempt. Then I stopped trying, and that was the end of it." 

"And Q is perfect, is he?" 

"Of course not. But if I asked him to Q would literally hold me in his arms forever. When I make mistakes, he doesn't let me ignore them, but then, when I've acknowledged them, he forgives me, he accepts my faults as part of my nature. He doesn't have to be perfect, and neither do I." 

"Well, isn't that...cozy?" she said tightly, picking up another instrument and finishing the job. 

"Beverly..." 

"All done, Captain. Try to avoid floors for awhile and you'll be fine." 

Picard was going to say her name again, when she shot him a venomous look that almost made him swallow his tongue. 

"Can we talk, later?" he asked instead. 

"I don't see there's anything left to talk about, except...did he make the Eschers?" 

"Yes." 

"As a present to you?" 

"As...yes." 

"And the Escherite?" 

"No. He says that was here already." 

She nodded, her face now quite clear of emotion, and met his eyes as the Chief Medical Officer. "It's vital that we get the rights to harvesting the Escherite, Captain. Its medical uses alone make it invaluable." 

"Understood, Doctor." He waited a moment, then got off the biobed and left Sickbay. He walked into the empty lift. "Bridge." 

Q flashed in and looked at him, saying nothing. 

Picard looked back, unaware of the pain showing clearly in his eyes. "You were listening in?" 

"No." 

The man stepped forward until his face was pressed against Q's chest, his arms going around the tall, warm body of his lover even as long arms enfolded him tightly. Picard felt a subtle shift. 

"Did you just stop the lift or time?" 

"Time." 

Picard nodded, rubbing his face against the gray band at the top of Q's uniform. Testing Q almost unconsciously, he stood there without moving for a very long time. Q did nothing more than hold him, and Jean-Luc grew aware of the beat of Q's heart, the intake and exhaling of his breaths, the unique warmth of his body, the roaring in his own ears. 

And in the end, it was he who changed the embrace, reaching up without warning to wrap a hand around the back of Q's neck and draw him down for a kiss. Soft and brief, at first, then, as the position of Q's hands changed on his body, the kisses deepened and grew more passionate. 

Large hands moved over the captain's back, pressing him close, then dropped to cup his backside and push him against the hardness between Q's legs. Picard pushed against him, his own erection developing, and moaned. 

"Oh, God. I love you, Q." 

"I'm _never_ going to get tired of hearing that." Q's mouth moved along his neck, and Picard arched into it, wanting more. He reached his head down just slightly and bit at one of Q's nipples right through his uniform, and the entity shuddered and moaned back. Then Q dropped to his knees, his hands fumbling at the material over Picard's groin. 

"What?" Picard tried to remember why he shouldn't allow this. "We're in the turbolift." 

"Oh, well, if that's a problem..." 

Picard pushed away the last of the sheet and lay there naked in front of the anomaly, bathed again in its red light. For just this moment, he could not feel absurd or self-conscious, could not worry that he was being perverted or presumptuous. Instead, he spread his legs just slightly, leaning back on his strong arms, trying to say clearly: 

"For me?" Q's warm voice asked, twining itself around Picard's nerves as the entity flashed into position between his legs. 

"All for you," Picard whispered brokenly as Q smoothed his warm hands up the insides of Jean-Luc's thighs. The red glow covered them both now, uniting them, as he spread his legs wider. He had become almost instantly hard, and now his cock was trembling as Q's hands caressed him, moving down, then up again. He moaned. "All for you, whenever you want me." 

Q's hands moved lightly over his hips, up his stomach, and then to his nipples, twisting them just as his head bent down to place a kiss on the tip of his erection. Picard groaned and forced himself not to thrust as Q's tongue now licked him delicately. 

"More!" 

"How much more?" 

"Take...take me in your mouth, please, love." 

Q squeezed his nipples hard and Picard felt his cock leak. He forced open eyes he didn't remember closing and saw Q's dark head and broad shoulders bent over him, licking him, the red of the Escher gleaming over his skin and through his hair. He remembered fucking the anomaly and screamed with the need to have Q surround him. 

"Now, Q! Damnit! Please!" 

"Lay back." 

"No, I want to watch you. I want to see you sucking my cock." 

Q groaned and moved over him quickly and completely, his tongue gliding along the swollen ridges, his lips sucking up those drops of precum before they buried themselves in the gray-black hair crowning his genitals. Picard screamed again, kicking his legs slightly, needing this more than he ever needed anything. 

"Yes! Oh! Dieu! Yes! So _good,_ Q." 

For half a second, Q was irritated. There were so many parts of Picard he wanted to touch right now -- his arms, his legs, his chest, his ass. Humans were ridiculous: so much to play with and only two hands to do it with. He thought with longing of the shower, of the way he'd been able to wrap himself all around Picard as he jerked off, even being breathed into his lungs. 

And then he remembered the light of the Escher, and poured some of his consciousness into it. 

Ah. Ah. Now as his lips and tongue worked over the hot, leaking cock that gave his lover so much pleasure -- and felt wonderful inside him -- he could slide along Picard's flanks and, with a little adjusting of his fleshy Human body, along his legs and arms and tantalizing pieces of his ass. And along his face, into his eyes, along his lips as he screamed. 

"What? What are you...? OH GOD Q!" 

And the man howled as he came, his cum burning Q's throat and his skin shining with sweat. Q emptied himself without a touch to his own erection, then slowly released Picard and sat up, looking over his unconscious form. 

_I wonder,_ he thought to himself quietly as his body shuddered with pleasure and the last of his cum dripped from his softening penis, _if after a billion years of doing this it will affect me less. Humans worry about losing their passion for each other, but that's because they don't know what intimacy really means. How long will it be before Jean-Luc lets me all the way in? How long before I let him all the way in me?_

Just at the thoughts he was entertaining, Q felt his Human body responding, and hastily changed his mental subject. A thousand years would not be enough time to prepare for some of what he wanted, and he had already gotten so much more than he had hoped for... 

"I love you, Q." 

"I love you, Jean-Luc. A bath? Dinner? More sex? Back to the turbolift?" 

Picard sighed. "Back to the turbolift." 

Q wasn't surprised. He nodded and snapped his fingers. They were back in the turbolift, and, once more, Q was holding Jean-Luc close. "What did she say?" he asked quietly. 

Picard sighed, as a little of the tension that their lovemaking had eased returned. He knew that this was serious, and that Q had a right to know about how Beverly felt about the situation, and, even more importantly, about how Jean-Luc himself felt about Beverly. 

"I'll tell you about it tonight," he said. "Will you join me for dinner?" 

"Of course." 

Q almost looked hurt, and Picard felt relief somewhere in the back of his mind. He nodded and smiled at Q. "Time to get back." 

"All right. Just for your information, you still have a half an hour." Q leaned down and brushed a light kiss across Picard's lips. "I love you." 

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that either," Picard replied. He stepped back from his lover and smiled at him. "I love you too." 

When Picard stepped out onto the bridge, everyone looked at him and then quickly looked back to their tasks. Squaring his shoulders, the captain looked over at Data. "Mr. Data, will you please join me in the ready room?" 

"Aye, sir," the android replied, waiting until another crewman came to relieve him before he moved toward the ready room doors. Riker shot Picard a look that asked if Picard wanted company, and Picard shook his head almost imperceptibly. 

"Data," Picard said once they'd taken their seats, "I'm sorry I was so brusque with you on the bridge. This situation with the Sylnatan didn't give me the time to break the news about Q the way I had intended." He looked down at his hands, suddenly nervous. He wanted Data to understand, wanted the android's support, if not his outright approval. 

"You do not need to apologize, Captain," Data replied. His mouth moved in a rueful smile. "I have learned that having to deal with a number of complex emotions at the same time can by very irritating." 

"Indeed they can." 

"I also feel as though I must apologize, Captain." 

"Whatever for?" Picard frowned. 

"I should have realized that the Escher Anomaly was created by Q," Data replied quietly. "Perhaps it was the fact that it had no apparent reason for being except as a work of art that kept me from reaching that conclusion. It does not seem like Q to simply create art for the sake of art." 

"You're partially correct Data, and in fact, he did have a reason beyond art for the sake of art when he created the anomaly. However, perhaps it's a disservice to think of him as being entirely motivated by selfish reasoning. I think that we've misjudged Q quite a bit over time. He's far more complex than we've ever given him credit for being." 

Data looked a little uncomfortable. "Forgive me for saying so, Captain, but I wonder if that is an objective remark." 

"Well, I never have been objective about Q. In fact, of all of us, you're the only person who has ever been objective about him, and that was before you had your chip." 

"Captain, do you know what he said to me, after I saved him from the Calamarain?" 

"No, I don't believe so." 

"He said, sir, 'There are creatures in the universe who would consider you the ultimate achievement, Android. No pain. No feelings. And yet you covet those qualities of Humanity. Believe me, you're missing nothing. But if it means anything to you, you're a better Human than I." 

Picard raised his eyebrow at that, thinking about how much it must have cost Q to say those words. 

"Now that I look at that situation emotionally," Data continued, "I feel that he meant what he said. Perhaps you are correct, Captain, and we did misjudge Q." 

"Right now, Data, I don't know enough to understand why Q did some of the things he did. Maybe I never will; I don't always understand why I do some of the things I do." 

"Perhaps we could ask." 

"What?" Picard's brows shot up. 

"I didn't mean you, Captain, however, in time, I imagine that some of us on the senior staff might like to ask Q a few questions. I believe we would do the same of anyone who became your partner." 

"Just like that," Picard said quietly. When Data looked puzzled, the captain continued. "I didn't expect anyone to be that matter-of-fact about it." He smiled. "Thank you, Data. Your vote of confidence means a great deal to me." 

Data nodded, and Picard was left thinking that perhaps he had not only misjudged Q, but that he'd misjudged his officers' abilities to accept his relationship with Q. He hastily quashed that line of thought, not wanting to think of the one officer who did object to the relationship. _Later, Jean-Luc. Deal with that later._

When he and Data emerged on the bridge, he saw Riker look at both of them curiously. Then Li cleared his throat. "Captain, the Sylnatan are hailing us." 

Picard checked his display as he sat down, noticing that the other three Sylnatan ships had arrived. All six ships were grouped together in a tight formation and Picard wondered if there would be even more of the small ships showing up any time soon. 

"On screen, Lieutenant," Picard said. 

"I am Admiral Ilnan of the First Fleet," the Sylnatan who appeared on the screen said coldly. 

Picard nodded. "Captain Jean-Luc Picard," he said, not bothering with the rest of it. "Captain Risnan indicated that your people feel that they have an interest in this part of space. 

"An 'interest,' Captain? Yes, you might call it that." 

Picard glanced down at his display, where Data had sent him a quick message to the effect that the Sylnatan-Federation treaty included no claim on the territory the Enterprise currently occupied. "I find it interesting," he said to Ilnan, "that there is no mention of this 'interest' in the treaty between your people and ours." 

"Captain Picard," she replied, "perhaps you need to contact your government and have them send a representative to re-negotiate that part of the treaty." 

"There is no need to do that, Admiral," Picard replied smoothly. "I am fully authorized to negotiate in the Federation's name. The new treaty will still have to be ratified by both our governments, of course. However, if you are willing to meet with me, we can get the negotiations underway." 

The Sylnatan admiral frowned. "I will consult with my government." 

"Please do," Picard replied politely. "We will await your reply. And, Admiral?" 

"Captain?" 

"It would be unfortunate if your government were to send even more warships into this sector of space. The Federation does not negotiate while looking down the barrel of a gun." 

"Ilnan out," the admiral snapped. 

Picard waited until he was sure that the screen was all the way off, before he turned to Troi. 

"She was no where near as confident as she looked. I think they're all still a little nervous about the anomaly and the power required maintain it." 

"The anomaly..." Picard frowned and looked at Riker. "Staff meeting in ten minutes, Number One." 

"All right," Picard said to Q a moment later. They were in the ready room and the captain was resolutely looking at his fish to avoid looking at his lover. He was afraid he couldn't even _look_ at Q without wanting to touch him somehow, and now was hardly the time to indulge in that sort of behavior. "The Escher..." Struck by a thought, he turned as he asked: 

"Do you have a name for it? It seems rather presumptuous of me to name your work." 

Q smiled, and Picard caught his breath before letting it out carefully. _I can do this,_ the man thought, surprised. _I want him, but I can wait._

"Actually, I was thinking of Escher when I came up with a couple of the patterns, particularly the one that's cycling through now. I didn't have a name for it, really." He smiled almost modestly. "Only a dedication." 

"Is it permanent?" 

"Yes. It will cycle through all of its phases and it will then start again. I used the Escherite to...jump-start it, but it runs on its own power now." 

"Je suis un idiot!" Picard exclaimed. "The Escherite!" He moved to his desk and turned the terminal around. "Look, Geordi and Beverly's initial report indicated that they had to improvise quite a bit to even harvest a small sample." He frowned through the technical details. "I'm not certain, but I would hazard a guess..." He paused. 

"Picard to Data." 

"Data here, Captain." 

"Data, please familiarize yourself with the Synatan level of technology before the meeting." 

"Yes, sir." 

Q watched quietly as Picard tapped a few notes to himself onto a padd. For a moment, the entity had been hurt by his lover's sudden inattention, but now he smiled. Picard was so focused on his train of thought that he almost glowed. In fact, on one level he did, and when the captain finally looked up from his work, Q could help moving toward him. "I'd rather look at you," the entity said reaching out to touch Picard's face, "than at a million works of art." 

"Please don't, Q. Not right now." 

"Why? I can stop time and we can..." 

"No," Picard replied firmly, even as most of his body told him he was being a fool. Before Q could ask, Jean-Luc tried to explain. "First of all, I need to feel sharp, not decadent and debauched. And secondly, I don't need to go into a staff meeting _looking_ decadent and debauched." 

Q rolled his eyes. "She's going to have to learn to live with it, Jean-Luc." 

"Yes, she is. But it's not just Beverly I'm worried about. It's not fair to my people if I can just pop out and take a little temporal vacation whenever I want to have sex with my lover. None of them can do that." 

Q frowned and Picard looked at him carefully. "I'm not happy about it," the captain added. "It's not that I don't want you...God knows I want you right now, but if this is going to work..." 

"I know," Q said through clenched teeth. 

The entity vanished without his usual flash of light, and Picard shook his head. They would either have to learn how to work this out, or he would resign. Cheered by the fact that he would end up with Q either way, he straightened his uniform and left the ready room. 

His officers were assembled in the conference room when he got there, and the tension in the room hit him like a drop in room temperature. LaForge's eyes were wide and fixed on him as he came in. Crusher looked absolutely expressionless, and Troi looked distressed. Riker looked overtly calm and cool, and Data had his "everyone looks so interesting" face on. 

"I believe I've figured out why the Sylnatan are here," he began at her took his seat, exercising the captain's prerogative to ignore them all. "Mr. Data, you've familiarized yourself with their level of technology and read Dr. Crusher's report on the difficulty she and LaForge encountered in harvesting their sample of Escherite." 

"Aye, sir." 

"Are the Sytalan capable of harvesting it?" 

Data blinked at him, then did the computations. "Unlikely, sir. However, they do have the technology required to detect the compound." 

Picard nodded. "So they made no claim to this part of space, believing that no one else was noticing its value. Then Q's Escher Anomaly points the way, and suddenly they want to stake their claim." 

"But why object if they can't harvest it themselves?" Riker wanted to know. 

"They have to have some idea of its potential uses," Troi said simply. 

"Were the compound less useful than it is," Picard said, "I would make the obvious offer of sharing some of our yield with them, but it constitutes such a significant advance in technological possibilities that I'm loathe to pursue that option." 

"Sir, 76% of the Sylnatan's technological advancement over the last two centuries has focused on military endeavors. They are regarded by other species here as a growing military threat. It would seem likely that any advance in their resources would result in a further increase of that threat." 

"So, what other options have we?" 

"We could offer them something in exchange besides the Escherite," Troi stated, knowing it was the obvious first option. 

"I'm sorry, sir," LaForge said suddenly, "but I'm having a little trouble here." 

Picard felt dread coil in his stomach. 

"Yes, Commander?" 

The Chief Engineer thought a moment, then gestured, "Any offer we make to them, of any kind, justifies their claim that they have some sort of right to demand something from us. They may have known about the Escherite, but they did nothing about it, and, frankly, this sort of 'dog in the manger' attitude shouldn't earn them any special favors." 

Picard struggled to nod calmly through his relief. Additionally, he found he quite agreed. 

"I'm with Geordi," Riker growled. "What they're attempting is grossly after the fact." 

"Our position is further complicated by a lack of any legal system other than their own for which the Sylnatan would feel obedience," Data remarked. "And their own legal system is directly under the control of the military. I doubt we would be able to convince them to settle their differences with us fairly in a Federation courtroom, or through third-party arbitration." 

"But they have been receiving Starfleet medical supplies and other humanitarian aid for decades," Crusher noted. "We do have some pressure to bring on them." 

The moment Picard felt himself relax into an enjoyment of his crew's professionalism, he became aware of something all together less welcome. A deep, hot need was building in his stomach, raising his body temperature slightly, making more blood flow to a spot he didn't need it to be right this minute. With this simple triumph, seeing his people work together after they knew about him and Q, he wanted nothing so much as to touch Q right now, to hold him, to touch his crisp dark hair, get him on his knees and have him gently suck -- 

_Enough. Stop. Enough, Jean-Luc,_ he told himself firmly, thinking of the mission, of very old Ferengi, of Boothby in a dress, of Deanna Troi sitting all of eight feet from him and picking up on everything he was feeling. 

She was showing no sign of it, bless her, as she talked with Crusher about possible sanctions. 

"Just what sort of military threat are we dealing with here?" Riker asked Data. 

"The Sylnatan's ships pose little danger in small groups, as we have seen," the android responded. "However, their entire fleet is massive in numbers, and they train to fight en masse. The Enterprise would not be enough to withstand more than perhaps two hundred of their ships fighting in such a fashion." 

"Would they be willing to bring that many ships to bear?" Riker pressed. 

Data shrugged. "In several recent engagements they have brought several hundred ships into the fray. They attack as a hive or swarm and overwhelm their enemies by sheer numbers." 

"The more I know about them the less we should want them anywhere near the Escherite," LaForge said grimly. "Captain, some of the uses it could be put to...with a simple application of phase inversion technology, it would permit an instant doubling in the energy output of the Sylnatan's disruptors." 

"Understood," Picard said with equal grimness. "Counselor, I take it they destroyed Escher Nine in order to announce their...readiness to make trouble. Do you believe that they feel the appearance of Escher Ten to be our answer to their challenge?" 

"Probably, sir, an impression the speed of its appearance in all likelihood reinforced." 

Picard nodded. "And do you agree that their stance will become more aggressive if they no longer believe that we control the Eschers?" 

"I do, sir." 

While Picard considered this, Data spoke, "Do you not intend to explain the Eschers' construction to them, sir?" 

"Not at present, Mr. Data, considering what's at stake. Q won't be interfering further here, but what he's done we might as well make use of." 

There was a pause, then, "Sir, are we to understand that will be your official position on your relationship with Q and ship's business?" 

Picard looked around the table at his officers, thinking of all he wished to tell them, of what he wished to tell Beverly in particular, and of what he needed to say and not to say as their captain. 

"My personal relationship with an entity capable of snapping his fingers and eliminating the Sylnatan from existence is not something I was ever trained in. I think you should all be aware that I am fully prepared to resign my post before I allow that relationship to jeopardize or trivialize this ship's mission. However, I find that I am in no hurry to make that...step, until it is absolutely necessary." A small smile pulled at his lips as his eyes went to the man at his side. "Sorry, Will." 

"And just when I was getting my hopes up." 

"Sir," Data said, "do you really believe that you may have to resign? Q has shown that he can stand by and watch disasters happen without interfering." 

Picard's eyebrows raised, and he found himself holding back a genuine laugh. "I hadn't thought before of Q's callousness as a resource, but I think I know what you mean. No, if Q says he'll stay out of it, he will, come what may. And if I can truly function as captain, then I have no intention of leaving. However, I want each of you, everyone in my command staff, to feel free to bring to my attention any problems you feel are directly or indirectly caused by Q's involvement in my life. If this is or isn't going to work, I want to know, with certainty, as soon as possible. 

"In the meantime, I need more options in dealing with the Sylnatan. I'm interested neither in bluffing them into temporary submission nor in engaging in military confrontation." 

"It would help if we knew more about what they want," Troi said. "They may be more than simply resentful of others' ability to use the Escherite; they may be concerned about that sort of power being used against them." 

"Well, we can't pretend Starfleet won't be making some military use out of the Escherite," Riker said. 

"But we may be able to work out some sort of pledge that the military uses won't be employed against them," Troi said. "After all, the Federation has no intention of attacking them." 

"We would need to make it clear we'd use whatever we liked for defense," LaForge said. 

"I think it might help if we could have a more specific idea of the Escherite's potential uses," Picard said, "if only to have our reports to Starfleet take firmer shape. As soon as this matter with the Sylnatan is cleared up, we'll need to recommend appropriate science vessels to take our place here." 

"Dr. Crusher and I should have a complete preliminary report by the end of the evening," Data said, having already made eye-contact with the doctor. 

"Fine. Good." He'd been hoping to talk with her, but perhaps a cooling-off period would be best. "In the meantime --" 

"Bridge to Captain Picard." 

"Picard here." 

"Admiral Ilnam is hailing, sir." 

Picard nodded to his officers and they all walked quickly back to the bridge. At his nod, Li put the admiral on screen. 

"I have been instructed by my government to engage in the negotiations you have offered," she said tightly. "Shall we meet aboard my ship tomorrow morning?" 

"Certainly," Picard said, "though I am surprised that you wish to meet aboard a vessel which our scanners say comfortably holds no more than ten people at a time. I will, of course, desire my entire negotiating committee to be in attendance, so things may be somewhat crowded. Still, I'm sure we'll manage." 

"If you want the meetings to take place on your vessel, we would need some sort of guarantee of our safety." 

"Certainly," Picard said with a broad smile. "What were you planning on offering us?" 

Her eyes flashed, and his eyebrows raised in polite inquisition. 

"We are...prepared to offer our assurances that these talks will be conducted in good faith and with respect for the opinions of both sides," she grated out. 

"As are we." 

"Then no further...guarantee is necessary." 

"Tomorrow, then?" 

"Will 0900, your time, be acceptable?" 

"Quite." 

She nodded, eyes glittering, and the comm line was broken. 

"Why wait until tomorrow?" Riker asked, looking at Troi. 

"Captain," Data called from conn. "The Sylnatan are conducting a series of high-intensity scans of Escher 10." 

Everyone looked to the viewscreen, and Picard found himself captivated by this latest version of the anomaly. He hadn't been paying it much attention until now, but it was breath-takingly beautiful. Blue swirls constantly moving in such a complex pattern that it seemed in some way captured in a permanent implosion. It was again larger than Escher Nine had been, and so vibrant, so alive, so thick and rich and -- 

Oh. God. He wanted Q. Right now. His whole body was thrumming with it, as though Q's artwork were plucking at his stretched consciousness. He had to touch that incredible warmth, stare into those eyes, kiss that mouth... 

"Mr. Data, Dr. Crusher," he said, voice perfectly controlled. "If you're ready, we should meet at 20:00 hours to discuss your projections for the use of the Escherite." 

"Yes, Captain," Crusher said quietly while Data nodded. 

"Commander," he went on. "It would be helpful to know when Escher Eleven will be making its appearance, and, just in case, we should know what other Starfleet ships are in the area and their ETAs." 

"Already working on it, sir." 

"Of course." He smiled at Riker, then felt his body begin to stir. It didn't matter whether he should or not. He had to leave the bridge and be with Q now or he would explode...or simply get an erection, definitely _not_ acceptable captainly behavior. "I'll be in my quarters," he finished quietly. 

"Aye, sir. You might ask him, if he'll say, how many more Eschers there will be." 

Picard's smile became slightly rueful. "I have an idea he'll want to avoid specifics." 

Riker smiled. Picard turned and left. No one seemed uncomfortable with it, even if in the past he would have been headed to his ready room. 

"Officers' quarters," he told the computer as the doors swooshed shut. But the second they closed, he found himself groaning, "Q..." 

And then he was standing in his bedroom, though the bed was bigger and cornered with four posters. Lying across it, his wrists and ankles bound with black chains, was Q, naked and already somewhat aroused. 

"What?" Picard couldn't help saying even as he remembered the dream where he had been the one of the bed, in chains... 

"Oh, God." 

"Does that mean you like it?" Q asked, sounding just a little hesitant. 

"Is that some sort of trick question?" Picard stepped cautiously towards the bed, noting the loveliness of Escher Ten out the window almost absently. _Of course, it's not quite the same. He can break out of those chains whenever he likes._

"I hope you don't mind, Jean-Luc," Q said as he watched his lover approach with darkly glistering eyes, "but I've made us a sort of pocket, temporal, but also...I'm without my powers now." In that position, Q still managed somehow to shrug. "Or at least, I can't access them, not until you let me loose." 

Picard felt himself get instantly, painfully hard. "But...how can you...?" 

"I'm a Q. I can do whatever I want!" His voice dropped. "And I really want to do this." 

"Oh, Q. Love..." He sat on the edge of the bed, looking over the sensual feast, his mind whirling with what he wanted to do. To be trusted like this...He placed a hand on Q's chest and then just kept it there a long minute, feeling his warmth, that tiny shiver that ran through him. "You're extraordinary and exquisite," he murmured, moving his hand just slightly. He looked around, trying to ground himself, and saw the bowl of oil Q had placed on the table. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed almost painfully. 

"What do you want to do to me?" Q whispered. "Whatever it is, you can." 

Picard closed his eyes, almost dizzy with the thought of those words. He had a sudden vision of himself with the Cardassians, of children playing cruel tricks on each other, on the posturing tyrants in their small ships outside. Q was trusting him. Knowing as much as he did about the cruelty of the universe, he was trusting him this much. 

He was going to make this so good. Passing out from the pleasure would be the least of it. 

He stood and took off his clothes. He remembered the edge being clothed had given Q in his dream, but he wanted a different sort of edge now. He wanted Q to look at him, to enjoy what he was seeing, to want to touch him, to watch him strain with his own erection. 

To have him know he wasn't alone in this. 

"You're so beautiful," Q said as Jean-Luc stood there beside the bed now, completely bare and quite aroused. 

"It's you who are beautiful," he said quietly, kneeling on the edge of the bed and bending down to busy his lips in the dark hair atop Q's head. The rest of his body aligned itself without his conscious direction, and Q groaned as the tip of the man's penis trailed along his stomach. His shifted his hips, continuing to caress him that way as he moved his lips gently over Q's face: his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his ears, his mouth, never stopping, never going deep. 

Next he kissed Q's neck, his shoulders, his chest and all along his arms and hands and each sensitive fingertip. The caress of his sex moved over his lower body, and soon Q was twisting for the touch of both his lips and that wet softness below. Picard made sure he was never with or without those touches for too long. As a result, Q's skin flushed dark and his muscles began to quiver. He was wracked with shudders and kept bucking his hips, trying to get attentions to his aching, dripping cock. By the time he was kissing down Q's stomach, the entity's breathing had become ragged, and he was making noises of pained protest. 

Picard paused right over Q's navel, then almost roughly plunged his tongue into the tight little center. Q yelped and arched as he next swiveled his body and straddled Q, so that his ass and erection were offered in a display Q could not reach. As he nipped at Q's lower stomach, the entity saw the muscles along the backs of his legs bunch and flex, saw the shining skin over the curves of his firm backside, saw the tight opening he had yet to plunder, saw the blood-red flush of the man's genitals, watched as a thick drop of precum slid off his cock and dropped to Q's own chest. 

"Back up," Q was whispering, "and I'll lick you out." 

Picard ignored him, and Q didn't protest, watching now as his lover lowered his head to Q's hips, kissing them delicately while Q strained against the chains and whimpered. He moved on, kissing down the length of each long leg, then up again, then down to his feet and along the tip of each toe. 

Q was whimpering constantly now, except when he was moaning. 

"I'm so empty," he kept pleading. "You make me so empty until you fill me up." 

Picard swiveled again, and dropped his mouth to Q's groin. His lover's groan of triumph became desperate when he began to bite high inside Q's thighs. The long legs, already spread, spread wider, and Q began to thrash. 

"Fuck me! What are you waiting for? Please, Jean-Luc, _please_ fuck me!" 

The man dropped lower, exploring with his lips and tongue. Q jerked as he licked that relaxed rim, and screamed his name. 

Then Picard sat up and reached for the bowl of oil. His hands were trembling violently, so he didn't try to pick it up, just dipped his hands into the warm liquid and then slathered his erection with it. 

Grabbing Q's hips with slick hands, he positioned his lover and placed the tip of himself at that opening. Dimly, he was aware that he should go slower, should prepare Q's body more completely, but gentleness was gone now, as Q urged him on with voice and body, spreading himself even wider, pulling against the chains, pleading. His eyes had gone wild, and sweat was pouring from him, matting his hair, making his whole body glow in the blue light of the anomaly. 

"Yes!" Q screamed. "Fuck me now!" 

The heat of the body he was touching washed up and through him, and then he was pushing in: so hot, so tight, all down the length of his cock, not stopping until he was buried inside. Q's body bent back as he howled Jean-Luc's name. 

Picard was beyond thought, thrusting deep inside Q's ass, pumping tension and pleasure and pressure as hard as he could, watching Q's head rock from side to side, watching his body strain to meet each thrust, listening to his voice groan and grunt with the doubled and redoubled bliss of it. 

He wrapped his hand around Q's cock and stroked, and then Q was coming all over him, the hot cum burning his hand. Q's body thrashed wildly, then weakly, and then he locked his dazed eyes with Jean-Luc's and pleaded silently, and the man came inside him as though he were pouring out his life-force. Q groaned and shuddered and went lax, and Jean-Luc waited only a moment, panting, before he sagged down next to his lover's warm, sweat-slick body, draped an arm heavily over Q's chest, and fell into his own exhausted slumber. 

"Are you all right?" 

Jean-Luc's head had fallen back, lolling against the hard, uncovered wall of the attic, his body able to remain standing only because Q was leaning against him, pressing him back. Both of them were gasping and shaking, and though he'd never before come that hard, Jean-Luc was quite aware that he wanted more, a lot more, as soon as possible. 

He forced his eyes open and saw Q's own hunger, and smiled. "As soon as possible" was right now. 

"Tell me what you like," Jean-Luc told the friend he'd cherished and yet never truly appreciated before in thirty-two years and seven months. "Tell me everything you like, and how I can do it for you." 

Q shuddered and let his own head drop to rest against Jean-Luc's. "I can't believe you're saying that to me." 

"I can't believe how long it's taken me to say it. I'm so sorry, Q." 

"I'm not." Q smiled while keeping their bodies pressed together, and Jean-Luc was able to look deeply into his friend's dark brown eyes. "I don't regret a moment of the friendship we've had, don't you understand? You've meant more to me than anyone. I love you." 

"I love you, Q." Experimenting, breathless at the thought of what he was doing, he smiled as he brought up a hand to rest on Q's chest and felt his old friend and new lover's body tremble while Q's eyes went somehow even darker than their usual shade. He slipped a hand under Q's flannel shirt and stroked the warm skin at first without direction, then down to one of his nipples, feeling a surprising jolt of pleasure through them both when he reach the tight nub. 

"Oh...what are you doing to me?" Q groaned, his eyes closing. 

"Enjoying you." Responding to pure impulse, Jean-Luc bent his head down to take Q's nipple in his mouth, but Q jerked away, leaving him feeling lost and anxious. "What did I --" 

"Jean-Luc..." Q took his hands in his own and pulled him gently from the wall. "If you touch me much more, I'm going to lose the ability to say I want to get out of this attic to someplace with a softer surface than this dusty floor." 

Jean-Luc laughed with relief and agreement, doing up his pants quickly, not caring that the fly was wet, before they moved to the stairs. "I'm not sure we're going to find a bed that's got sheets on it." 

"So we'll have to make a bed," Q mocked, going down the stairs first, walking with less than his usual grace. When Jean-Luc realized the awkwardness was doubtlessly caused by Q's arousal, he felt flushed with warmth, and almost tripped down the steps in his eagerness to find that bed. Dimly, he remembered staying in the back room on the second floor sometimes as a child, and now his feet led him in that direction. Q walked along at his side, and, unable to help himself, he slid a hand over Q's rear, enjoying the smooth curve of the worn denim against his palm. 

Q actually stumbled, catching himself against the door-jamb as they reached the back hall, and Jean-Luc was about to apologize when he saw the wild look in his lover's eyes. 

"You like that?" he asked softly instead, moving up against Q, running his hands back and forth over Q's buttocks before sliding them between his legs. 

"Yes," Q panted, shuddering again. "Please...the bed..." 

Jean-Luc growled and cupped his friend's hardness as he reached up to kiss him fiercely, then broke away and fumbled for the doorknob of what he desperately hoped was a bedroom. 

The room doubled as a sewing room, but there was a bed there covered by a white crocheted spread they whipped off to reveal white sheets before tumbling down on the mattress together. They were almost grimly determined to get their clothes off, and the second Jean-Luc had wrestled off his briefs he reached for Q and was himself wrapped into strong arms which held him closer and with more comfort than he had even known. Their shared kiss was deep and hot and he felt as if he were being transformed inside, becoming someone who could love in a completely new and better way than he ever had before. 

But when he pulled back just slightly to look once again into Q's eyes, he realized he _had_ to tease him, had to know just what his graceful, brilliant, experienced friend would admit to before he could lose himself in this as deeply as he wished. 

"Thirty-two years and seven months of lusting after me," he mumbled as Q's hands stroked his back and sides, "must have created a lot of...plans." 

"Plans?" 

"Things you want...to do to me." 

Q blinked as though trying to clear his mind, and Jean-Luc nibbled on his chin. "Ohhhh. Yes. Plans." 

"Like what?" He moved his nibbles down Q's neck. 

"Are you trying to drive me insane?" 

"Yes. Tell me." 

"Tell you?" Q's body pressed up from the bed, and Picard knew he wanted his nipples attended to. He took them between his fingers and pinched lightly, loving the uneven panting this produced. 

"Tell me everything you've ever thought of doing to me." 

"That would take another thirty-two years." 

Jean-Luc laughed, nevertheless feeling slightly disappointed, and reached Q's chest with his mouth, closing his lips around a nipple and sucking gently. 

"I've...oh...what haven't I wanted to do? When we were living together, I thought of kissing you and holding you and waking up to find you in my bed instead of the bed across the room. When we got our own places, I thought of sneaking into your room at night and sucking you off and taking you while you didn't know who I was. When we played tennis together I thought of tackling you on the court and jumping you right in front of everyone. When we'd shower together I thought about having you kneel down and take me in your mouth. When we'd fly on planes together I thought about meeting you in the bathroom and shoving you over the little sink and taking you while you watched in the mirror. When we went to estate sales together I thought about throwing you over every table and then shoving down my pants and coming all over you while everyone screamed and ran away and you didn't care. When we went sailing together I thought about getting us into choppy waters and using the motion to thrust inside you. When we'd stay up for hours talking I thought about kneeling between your knees while you sat in your chair and having you talk while I worshipped your cock until you couldn't stand it anymore and shoved yourself down my throat and came inside me and I swallowed every drop, then I laid you down in front of the fire, pushed back your legs and slipped inside you." 

Picard cut off the flow of fantasies he'd asked to hear by pressing his mouth down against Q's, intoxicated with the images Q's words had filled him with. When he could break for air, he whispered raggedly, "Yes, all of those and more. I want to do them all." 

"Really?" 

"Well, perhaps not that one about the estate sales." 

Q laughed, then almost strangled on it when Jean-Luc closed his hand around his erection. He thrust against the warmth there. 

"I'm thinking of a plan," Jean-Luc murmured, stroking him lightly. 

"Of what? Oh, that feels so good." 

"We're here, fixing up this house, getting it ready for us to live in together..." Q groaned and thrust harder, but Jean-Luc kept his touch light, if unsteady from his shaking hands. "And we're painting and picking out furniture, and taking care to make everything just the way we both like it so we can stay here happily for the rest of our lives." 

Q stopped thrusting, his body going rigid, his eyes staring, and for a moment he looked angry. 

"You'd better mean that, Jean-Luc," he growled. 

He thought of what he'd just described: fixing up this house together, living together, making love together, making an entire life together. It was domestic as hell, and it was paradise. 

"I mean it." 

Q closed his eyes and shuddered, and suddenly Picard realized his lover really was feeling pain. The difference between thirty-two years and ten didn't matter. The plans and dreams were the same. All Jean-Luc could do in return for all those years was offer Q everything he had. 

_And is that what you're doing?_ the captain asked himself. _Are you offering to share your life with Q, or sacrifice it for him? A Victorian mansion that needs repainting or the Enterprise that needs a new policy for dealing with the captain's mate. Both take an act of will. You're supposed to be a starship captain. Your determination to get what you want is supposed to count for something._

"I do mean it, Q. I mean all of it." 

Q's eyes snapped open to stare at him. 

"Please, Q. Make this room _real._ " 

And though they now slipped out of their roles of two old friends from college, the dim edges of the room sharpened. Dust and the trace of fog filled his lungs, and Jean-Luc sneezed. 

"Real enough for you?" 

"Perfect." He smiled and rolled over on his back before he pulled his legs against his chest. "I have another plan." 

Q's eyes darkened again as he rolled over and then positioned himself over Picard's body, pressing down with his weight so he could kiss him deeply. "Tell me." 

"You said I'm a match for you." 

"Yes." 

"Prove it, please. Be inside me and make me feel I'm enough for you." 

"And that I'm enough for you?" 

"No." Picard frowned. "I need to know the opposite: that you're not too much for me." 

"That part is up to you, Jean-Luc." 

Picard smiled. "Then test me...Your Honor. Give me all of you. Burn me, if that's what it takes, but take me as a mate, not just a lover." 

Q looked shaken, but love glowed in his eyes. "In time, if you want, we could become completely joined, but that's a long way off for both of us." 

"Long after they've pried the Enterprise out of my gnarled fingers?" 

Q grabbed one of his hands and held it to his lips, gently kissing each finger in turn, then laced the fingers of his own hand through it and stared down at Jean-Luc with enough heat to have burned him, had not the man's own eyes held a fire to match. 

"Be inside me...as much as you can," Jean-Luc whispered. 

Q's face reflected wonder. "What happened? What's changed your mind?" 

Picard grunted. "I'm tired of being more courageous in my dreams than when I'm awake." 

Someone outside was starting a cold car engine, filling the air with that rhythmic protest, as Picard pulled his legs up over Q's shoulders and raised his hips over Q's thighs. Q's hands helped settle him while his eyes became a little over-bright in the dusty sunlight from the unwashed window. He next put his fingertips lightly against Jean-Luc forehead, smiling, and then traced his lover's face with reverend care. Picard turned his head enough to allow his lips to kiss the fingers as they passed, but otherwise lay still as the touches trailed along his neck, then his collarbones, then his shoulders, and then in, along his chest. They stopped to play a while with his nipples, then down the light coating of gray-black hair to his stomach, where his navel was teased a moment, then down to his narrow hips, then up along his legs, which he settled a bit more comfortably against him. 

"Q," Jean-Luc protested slightly, bending his legs at the knees just a bit, spreading himself out, pumping just once very gently with his hips. 

"Your body becomes you, Mon Capitaine," Q whispered. 

"I thought it was 'Moonlight Becomes You.'" His eyes closed to slits as Q's hands neared the part of him that most longed for his touch. 

"You carry your moonlight inside you, and when people are with you they bask in it." His fingers lightly stroked the man's cock, delighting in the ridges and smooth curves, before his thumb pressed lightly into the slit, caressing the tip, and the man's whole body jerked. "Relax," Q crooned. "I'm not trying to dominate, just prepare you." 

Picard looked simultaneously aroused and contrite. "It would only be fair." 

"What?" His thumb was making tiny circles while his other hand was tracing behind the shaft, cupping and caressing his testicles. 

"I've been...ohhhh, God...dominating you more than a little...in bed." 

"I noticed." 

"I'm s--" 

"Shhhhhh. Jean-Luc, we have a long time to love each other, and, knowing the both of us, there's going to be a lot of variety in there over the years. Anytime you feel the need to control me, as long as it means touching me like this --" Picard gasped and shuddered. "Or this." Picard moaned and arched his back. "Or this." Picard whimpered. "It's fine by me." 

"Hurry. Fuck me." 

Q brushed Picard's anus lightly, then snugly, then with increasing pressure before he slipped one oiled finger deep inside, pressing out against the muscle, gently stretching. 

"Hurry. Oh, God." 

"I'm not going to hurt you. Hold on. You're too...ahh...there we go. Relax, my love. I promise this is going to feel good." 

"I be...ohhhhh...believe you." 

Q slipped in the second finger with care, adding in more oil, relieved to feel the muscle loosen further. Picard was going to be tight, but not too tight for him. Q wouldn't have minded making himself smaller, but Picard knew him at this size already and this really wasn't the moment for springing anything new on his lover. As long as he took it slowly, this should work fine. 

Taking it slowly, however, wasn't what Q's own body had planned, and his lover's knowledge of that shone as brightly as anything else in Picard's eyes. Q met that knowing gaze bravely, and was rewarded by seeing the man lick his lips in a manner that rushed hot urgency to his already hot and urgent cock. He tried closing his eyes, but then Picard began to moan, rhythmically. Q forced himself not to hurry, carefully working in the third finger and adding yet more lubricant. Picard's humming moans increased, and Q found he simply couldn't wait anymore. 

"Ohhh," Picard said as Q removed his fingers, the frustration there evident. His body almost convulsed as he fought not to protest further, and then Q moved forward and placed himself at the man's opening, then pushed gently inside. Deep hazel eyes flew open in astonishment, and then the sculpted marble which completed Picard shuddered. "You feel..." 

Q tried to ask what he felt like, but his breath was gone. The stretching and lubricant had done their work. He was easing inside the tight heat and the sensation up his erection was not to be borne without awe. 

"You...feel..." Picard tried again, his eyes blinking wider as Q moved in deeper, until he was inside Jean-Luc's body to the very base of his cock. They stared at each other for long seconds, gasping, trying to adjust, before Q bent down and kissed him. When they broke, gently, both needing air, Picard whispered, "It's so...I feel shattered." 

"But not yet burned?" Q asked, a touch of menace there he could not quite suppress. Picard below him was a temptation beyond resistance. To see this man he had loved and wanted for so long now working to take his cock inside him, allowing Q penetrate him right to the center of himself...he couldn't stand it, and, with no warning other than a slight in-take of breath, he withdrew and thrust, deeply. 

Picard arched back with a hoarse scream, his fingers clawing into fists around the white sheet below them, and at the sight of it Q _almost_ came. He needed to close his eyes, use his powers, blow something up, somehow keep from losing himself in this. The physical sensation of being inside Picard was less than that generated from having Picard in him, but the _thought_ of it was so much more, and Q was more a creature of thought than physicality. Suddenly he could see the path before them which ended with joining Picard's entire self, and he became very glad indeed that it was a long, difficult journey. The pleasure about which he had warned Picard was now threatening to overwhelm _him,_ burn _his_ soul with sweet fire. 

And he loved it. 

Jean-Luc was lost. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the pleasure of being fucked by Q. It were as if someone had reached down through his skin and exposed his every nerve ending in a manner that should have been excruciating, but instead only allowed pure bliss to seep into him, carried on the warmth inside him which radiated out through every atom of his body. 

And then, the focus began to shift from his pleasure-filled body to, somehow, his consciousness itself. It were as if the fire could not be contained by flesh, and spilled over into the greater resources of his mind. And deeply inside himself he found not only Jean-Luc, but also Q, screaming the delirium of joy. It did burn, ash charred from a diamond, with Q's hands on his legs, holding them open, Q's thoughts in his mind, holding him open, Q pouring inside him along with that warm liquid, filling him completely with all of himself. 

Dimly, Jean-Luc was aware of coming, the sweet pleasure adding to the ecstasy that was his mate. 

Much, much later, they lay in the rumpled bed, only half-aware, distracted by happiness. The pink evening sunlight shimmered a little uncertainly through the dust in the air and the dirt on the window panes, and there was a decided chill settling around them, held at bay by each other's warm arms. A calm came with the chill, bringing distant sounds through the window Q had opened with a lazy snap of his fingers, complaining in an almost sleepy voice that it was too much trouble to get out of the bed. 

Picard found it strange to be both exhausted and refreshed, drained and yet completely at peace. He felt as though he'd run a marathon and then been bathed and massaged until he could no longer stand. Everything felt wonderful, and if the house caught on fire he wouldn't be able to move. Hours passed in a few precious moments, half-asleep and held aloft on sails of dusty white sheets, fanned out by the lazy exhalation of two men's deep breaths. 

It was two or three hours before dawn when Q asked, chuckling deeply, "Wore you out, did I?" 

"Humph." 

"So, Mon Capitaine, you're my mate now." 

"Hmm." 

"Will you mind if I redecorate your quarters a little?" 

"Hm?" 

"Just a few things. I'd like to make your bed a bit bigger, and do you think you could get used to satin sheets? And I think the place could really use some fresh-cut flowers. And the lighting...it's so dark in there. And maybe a really nice big armchair in the corner for me to sit in while you're working. You won't mind if I like to read while you're filling out reports, do you?" 

"Hm...ah...ahem...Q, are you joking?" 

"Joking? I assure you, I love flowers." 

"Flowers and bigger bed, yes. Lighting, no. Armchair, yes. Satin sheets...I don't think so." 

"Will you at least try them sometime?" 

_Sigh._ "All right. Oh. Oh, God." 

"We both seem still to be a little sensitive. No, don't worry. You don't have to get hard, I'm just...exploring a bit." 

Picard closed his eyes and simply remembered to breathe. Q's hands were so delicate, and yet they sparked along his skin down to each nerve-ending. 

Outside, in the very still night, a foghorn drifted up to the window. 

Q's touch was wonderful, but Jean-Luc found himself resisting its effects, half-convinced that getting aroused right now might finish him off. The foghorn was a welcome distraction, its incredibly mournful note a sharp contrast to his settled joy. And it was odd to think that its purpose was actually functional here. San Francisco was a port with ships... 

"Ohhhh. Q..." He was getting aroused. He couldn't help it. 

"Hm?" 

...a port with ships from all over the world, bringing in their cargo and... 

"Merde!" 

"What?" 

Picard rolled over on top of Q and grabbed his shoulders. "I've got an idea." 

Q looked at him oddly. "I have a feeling you don't mean about us." 

"In a sense, I do, but I am thinking of the Sylnatans." 

"The spoilsports? I'm so flattered." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Q," Picard growled with affection, surprised at the boundless depth of it. He saw his life from now on being ornamented with Q's moods and taunts and mockery, and instead of the irritation he should feel, he felt light-headed with his good fortune. Turning his growl into something more like a purr, he leaned down to kiss Q properly, taking his time with it, and smiled as he pulled back to see those sharp eyes so soft, almost dazed, with unconcealed love. "Take me back to the Enterprise." 

"You got your energy back in a hurry," Q noted, and before Picard could respond they were lying together in his slightly bigger-than-standard bed in his starlit quarters. Picard kissed him again, roughly, then pushed himself out of bed, only then noticing the many vases of cut flowers around the room. There were even white roses in the bathroom, though Q at least stopped short of putting a vase in the shower itself. 

Emerging naked and walking to his closet for a uniform, Picard noticed that Q was gone, and frowned over the disappointment he felt. He was going to have to get used to -- 

"Oh, look at the starship captain in his all-together." 

"I thought you had left." 

Q stood in the doorway, pouting, his own uniform fitting him snugly as he watched Picard don briefs, undershirt, and jumper with efficient movements. 

"Yes, I'm just dying to get back to those rugch beetles," Q drawled. 

Picard tugged his uniform into place and turned with a calm expression. "Just don't change the room around too much while I'm gone." 

"Just don't change the universe around too much while I'm busy introducing this Starfleet shoebox to a little style." 

"I love you." 

Q moved so swiftly Picard dimly wondered if he'd used his powers. All he was certain of was Q's arms around him, his lips pressing and twisting against his own, and the frantic rush of heat throughout his body. Right when he was about to worry about pulling away, Q let him go. 

"Play nice with the other mortals," Q told him. "And be home before dark." 

Picard arrived on the bridge early for Alpha Shift, nodded to Data, and went into his ready room for coffee and reports. Riker, sensing something was up, arrived not long after, and the two were ensconced until right before the meeting with the Sylnatans. 

In Sickbay, Beverly Crusher had dealt with the last of the morning rush, the most exciting case being Ensign Addams' coffee-burnt hand, and was sitting behind her desk with her own cup of coffee as she finished her medical reports. She thought briefly of contacting Captain Picard before his meeting with Admiral Ilnam, but he had her reports on the Escherite, and there was really nothing more to say. 

Her office door chimed, and Crusher was once again grateful for the increased privacy the Enterprise-E afforded her, clearing away her empty coffee cup before calling, "Come in." 

Q flashed in, sitting comfortably across from her, legs crossed, arms folded. She bristled instantly, some part of her more annoyed at her own anger than at Q's actual appearance. 

"Claws sheathed, Bev," he drawled. "I come in peace." 

She smiled tightly. "I don't see the need for this, Q. I think everyone's had their say." 

"Everyone except you, my dear doctor." 

"Don't 'dear doctor' me." 

"That's it," Q encouraged, "let me have it." 

"I don't have time --" 

"You have all the time you need to clear your little mind, I assure you, especially since you've decided to sulk in your office while the big boys save the universe." 

"I'm not s--" 

"Tell me, Bev," Q hissed, leaning forward, "just how angry do you get when you think about me and Jean-Luc in bed?" 

She glared at him and Q's eyes glittered at her speculatively. 

"Sharing his bed, planning our future together...You know, of course, that when you come for breakfast now you'll find the two of us talking over coffee and croissants, going over the day's business..." 

"You'll never last it," she murmured. 

"What was that?" 

"You'll get bored, you'll move on, probably leaving me to pick up the --" 

"Is that your fantasy, Bev? Once again he's left with no one but you. Always you, there for him..." Q's voice dropped into open hostility. "But never _really_ there. All these years you've been with him, handed opportunities I would have made use of faster than you can say 'Jack Crusher,' and you've offered him nothing more than a penny for his thoughts and a lot of meaningless friendship." 

"Our friendship is _not_ meaningless." 

"It is when you're looking to get laid." 

She flinched. 

"Tell me, sugar, why you could never quite bring yourself to take that step. You knew he wanted you to. You knew he wanted _you._ But you were never quite ready to tell him your little secrets. You were never willing --" 

"Evidently I was, some time in the future." 

Q smiled. "Is that what's eating you, Doctor? Are you mad because you didn't get to go through a doomed marriage?" 

"Just because you say --" 

"I don't say anything. I just took you all into the future to see what would be seen. _I_ didn't decide you have all the emotional depth of a petri dish. _I_ didn't push him away whenever he wasn't the Great Captain. _I_ didn't decide he couldn't live up to the memory of Mr. Laughs. _I_ didn't tell him he was too demanding, too needy, too different in his personal life from his public persona." 

"I didn't say any of that!" 

Q wagged a finger at her. "You can't play it both ways. Either you never went for him or you did and then rejected him. Come on, Beverly. Doesn't it give you a little satisfaction to know that your instincts were right? It's _good_ that you were too chicken to grab him." 

"You have no cause to pretend you understand anything about my relationship with Jean-Luc!" 

"I understand that you weren't good enough for him," Q noted. "And I am." 

"You understand nothing! How _dare_ you come here and take him from --" She stared at him, horrified. 

"Yes? Take him from what?" Q looked at her innocently a long while. "Do you mean take him from you? Did you have him? Was he your little ace in the whole? Hm? Were you planning on cashing him in if you never got another Odan?" 

"Leave me alone, Q." 

"Beverly, think!" Q urged, catty pose dropped as he leaned forward. "You have been friends for years. You've been comfortable with your relationship as it is _for a reason._ " 

She stared at him, revealing nothing. He squelched the impulse to read her mind. 

"Did he tell you why you two got married?" 

She blinked. That hadn't quite been the question she'd expected. She found she was shaking her head. 

"He was injured, badly, on a mission into Romulan space. You, Riker and the rest were able to get him out, but he was months recovering, and it was during his treatment that you found out about the Irumodic Syndrome. You stayed with him throughout his physical therapy, and one night after a long session of stretches you finally went to bed. You were married about a week later." 

Crusher felt her stomach twist. Despite her own wishes, she believed Q. Jean-Luc's illness would have allowed him to be weak in her eyes without censure. But then, when he'd recovered...yes, she knew herself well enough to believe she would have wondered if he weren't healed. She would have pushed, and pushed, trying to fight the onset of Irumodic Syndrome, trying to get him "back into shape," not realizing he _was_ all right. She hadn't been the monster Jean-Luc, honestly speaking from his own perspective, had painted her. Ignorance had prevented her from understanding, and their tempers had doubtlessly done the rest. 

"You're his friend," Q said quietly, startling her. "The idea of hurting you hurts him, and quite frankly does nothing for me." 

She snorted. "You don't care about my feelings, Q." 

"Actually, I care about his and he cares about yours. If fact, you're practically my in-law." 

"Are you trying to make me ill?" 

"I'm _trying_ to get you see that you're hurting an old friend." Q shot her a look of pure charm. "You're only going to regret this peevishness later, you know." 

She glared at him. 

"You've seen him become involved with other lovers before," Q prodded. "It bothered you somewhat, but your friendship always won out. What's different? Is it because you know I'm not letting him go? Is it because I'm a Q? You should be flattered it took an omniscient immortal to win out over you. Is it --" 

"Would you have killed her?" 

Q frowned. The question had been asked so softly he almost hadn't stopped in time to hear it. _Killed who?_

"Amanda?" he hazarded. 

She nodded. 

"I was the Continuum's appointed executioner," he said. "If she had needed it, I would have eliminated her. And yes, if you hadn't won out over the Borg, I would still be watching Humanity's final assimilation and doing nothing to stop it." 

"And if Jean-Luc hadn't been able to prevent his destruction of Humanity?" 

Q half-smiled. "The test was genuine, but if he'd failed, we weren't going to leave the galaxy to be destroyed by it." 

She shook her head, eyes narrowed. "You talk so cavalierly of death and destruction. Does suffering mean nothing to you?" 

"What do you think it _should_ mean to me after five billion years? How long do you think your doctorly compassion would last after you've watched more races than you can remember dwindle into nothing?" 

A slow smile of her own hovered. "And yet you've decided to fall in love with a Human, haven't you?" 

"I didn't decide to do any--" 

"A very compassionate Human, at that. Tell me, Q, have you figured out what you're going to do when he asks you to save some mortal or other from that suffering you don't care about?" 

"He wouldn't ask--" 

But Beverly was talking to herself now, shaking her head again in amazement. "We've all been so busy thinking about how this is affecting Jean-Luc, we've not thought at all about what this is going to do to you. Are you going to be exiled from the Continuum again?" 

"Of course not." 

"Are you sure? What about when he wants you to do something you're not supposed to do?" 

"He _wouldn't_ ask me to do something that would hurt me." 

"True, but what about when you don't feel like telling him it would hurt you because you want to help him too much?" 

Q stared at her. 

"And what about his own mortality? Are you going to let him die, or force him to become Q?" 

"I'm not going to force him to do anything." 

"Even live?" 

"If Jean-Luc wants to die, I can do that." 

She blinked. "You mean, you'll let him die, or you'll die with him?" 

"Yes. Whatever he wants." 

Beverly began to laugh, knowing it was cruel, unable to stop herself. Q sat there, taking her laughter with a slightly raised brow. When she could talk again, she sighed, "You have no idea what you're in for, do you?" 

"No. Unlike _some_ people, I don't have to." 

That quieted the last of her mirth. "You don't know and you can't control it." 

"I don't need to do that either." 

She tilted her head, allowing that half-smile to return. "You know, it just might be worth it after all, getting to watch you deal with this." 

"Prepare to be dazzled by happiness." 

She shook her head slowly, eyes glinting. 

"That's Jean-Luc's own happiness we're talking about as well, you know." 

And then she simply smiled, the last of her rage boiling away. "Jean-Luc, I'm sure, will be getting what he wants." 

Q frowned, puzzled. "Then...we're in agreement?" 

She sighed, waving a hand at him faintly. "Go away, Q. I can't deal with agreement just yet." 

And, to what she vaguely realized was only the beginning of her surprise, Q nodded politely and flashed out. 

Picard sat in his ready room alone, knowing Q would appear the moment he requested it, but not yet ready to make that request. 

It was odd, he thought. He should feel different. The moment should be more...momentous. 

The Synatan ships were leaving for their home, a Synatan-Federation agreement signed by both Ilnam and himself in their databanks. Starfleet had been notified that the "crisis" was over, and that the Federation had agreed to pay the Synatan government a tariff on the export of the Escherite through Synantan space, a route of transportation which would allow easy access to the nearest Federation starbase. Ambassador Arlic had made an official request to return to Kes-Prytt ASAP to inform his own government of the profit to be made in opening their own space to tariff-paying transports. Everything had gone better than he'd let himself hope. 

And just now, Admiral Koobin!at had just been informing him of Command's pleasure in his solution to a "difficult situation," and suggested, once the science vessels arrived to take over the Enterprise's study of the Escherite, that Picard treat himself and his crew to a little shoreleave on the nearby planet of Haven. 

His old-fashioned solution had only come to him because he'd been in San Francisco with Q, listening to the foghorn warning the ships in the bay, and yet that really couldn't be said to be an abuse of Q's powers, could it? He could just as easily been in the holodeck. The idea had been all his, and...he sighed. 

_Face it, Jean-Luc. You're going to go on trying to be captain as long as you can, whether you're in love with Q or not._

Nodding sharply, he stood and walked out onto the bridge. Riker met his eye, smiling. Troi was not at her station, doubtlessly attending to the needs of some crew member. Data manned ops. Beverly came out of the turbolift. 

Picard did not quite falter, but he met her eyes gravely, surprised enough to start slightly when she smiled at him. 

"There you are," she said. "I was hoping to catch you before the end of shift." She motioned back into the turbolift. 

Picard met Riker's eyes. 

"All's quiet, sir." 

"Indeed, Number One." He nodded and walked into the lift with his CMO. 

She barely waited for the doors to close. "Jean-Luc, I'm sorry." 

"Beverly, I --" 

"Q came to see me." 

He looked at her with an uncertainty she found most satisfying. "And?" 

"And I've realized things are a bit more...equal between the three of us than I thought." 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning, I'm not angry anymore." She smiled brightly as the lift doors opened onto the deck for her quarters. "Goodnight, Jean-Luc." 

Picard watched her breeze out with wide eyes, then shook himself as the doors closed with their hiss. The lift took him to his deck one level below hers, and he walked to his quarters with growing urgency. 

"Q," he began as he walked through his doors, "what did you say to..." 

An enormous bed was draped in miles of red velvet. Slave-girls and slave-boys were holding aloft waving fans, offering up trays of exotic fruits, and playing a soothing melody on harps and flutes. Q lay in the center of the bed, naked. 

"Q!" 

The entity laughed and snapped his fingers. All was restored to his regular room, though Picard peripherally noted a few things seemed out of place, like the incredibly comfortable-looking armchair in the corner. 

"I just wanted to give you a little surprise," Q laughed, standing there calmly in his regulation uniform. 

"Q..." 

Picard found himself in the middle of an embrace, Q's arms wrapped around him as though they had been tailored for his waist, chest, and shoulders. He looked up and found himself being kissed with expert, passionate thoroughness. Whatever he'd been about to ask drained from his thoughts as he began to express his own passionate thoroughness. 

But when he opened his eyes, Picard saw the ambient light of the room change from the blue tint to which he'd almost grown accustomed to return to that golden haze he recognized. 

Only the thought of Escher Eleven could get Picard to look at anything other than Q's face in that gold light. 

"My God, Q," he breathed as he stared out the window. "It's beautiful." 

The anomaly was again composed of gold rings, but this time, instead of jewels, miniatures of the previous Eschers ornamented those rings. Moreover, Picard knew the pattern. The blue of Escher Ten held the very center of the orrery, and the sixth ring out from the center held the golden rings of the orrery he'd seen before, the seventh ring held the Escher which showed the universe as a negative, and the ninth and final ring held the first and smallest Escher while the ring itself rotated on its own intersecting plane. 

"It's an orrery of the Terran system?" he asked quietly, having moved to the window to place his hands upon the transparent surface, bathing in the lush glow. The third ring held the Escher of prisms. 

"Yes." Q stood directly behind him and began to nibble very gently at his left ear. 

"What about the one from before? You said...ohhhhh...you said it was based on something." 

"Yes." The tip of his tongue began to trace the whorls. Picard knew he didn't have long to ask the rest of it. 

"Is it...Oh, God...Is it the system the Q came from, originally?" 

"Sort of. It's a long explanation and right now I'm going to fuck you." Q dragged him away from the window and into the bedroom, where the gold light followed, illuminating skin as their uniforms disappeared. 

"But what about the signature?" Picard persisted even as his body began to burn, even as they fell on the bed and reached for each other. 

"You have to figure that one out on your own," Q said with a slightly wicked smile. 

"What...what did you say to Beverly?" 

"We'll talk _later,_ Jean-Luc." 

"Q, this bed is enormous." 

"Nice, don't you think?" Q rolled then, so that Picard was on his back, and bent down to kiss his nipples, and the man did have to admit it was nice. Surrendering, for now, he spread his legs and groaned with pleasure as Q's fingers slipped inside him, preparing him. His mind, filled with mysteries and questions and dreams, shut out everything but sensation, allowing him to drown. 

And when Q at last slid inside him, making him scream with roaring bliss, his mind was filled with his mate's love, and Picard realized Q was right. 

They could talk later. 

  
THE END


End file.
